


your hand in mine (pt. ii)

by geralehane



Series: gdau [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Jealousy, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 107,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: Five months after breaking Lexa's heart, getting her back is Clarke's first priority. She doesn't care about destroying herself in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

She doesn’t remember how she gets home. It’s not a blur, or fragments, or flashes of memories - Lexa’s door, stairs, street, cab. No. She just doesn’t remember, because that’s not important. 

 

All she remembers is Lexa and her green eyes full of tears. 

 

Did she break down on her way home? Or was it when she entered her apartment and saw the tree still standing there; wrapping paper still scattered on the floor; Lexa’s presence still very much there, in her living room, in that easel and that sloppy sketch of her jaw and blushing cheeks? 

 

She laughed when she sketched her, just this morning. Lexa laughed, too. Lexa smiled and blushed and left an awed kiss of gratitude on her lips when she was finished. 

 

Lexa never wants to see her again, and her sheets still smell like them; and Clarke’s head hurts almost as much as her heart when she climbs into her bed, shoes and all, curling up against Lexa’s pillow. Lexa’s pillow. She’s been spending so much time here that Clarke’s come to think of so many things as hers. There’s her toothbrush in the bathroom, and her towel. Several pairs of fluffy socks and all the undershirts she’s forgot to wear in the morning. Clarke’s old sweatpants, neatly folded on her chair. This pillow and the right side of this bed she’s never noticed to be so unnecessary big before. 

 

And her. She’s Lexa’s, but Lexa doesn’t want her anymore. Just like all these things, she’s hollow. Meaningless. Void of purpose while still carrying Lexa’s mark, her scent and her touch clinging to her skin. 

 

She doesn’t get to spend weeks holed up in her bedroom, smelling the sheets and crying her heart out - but God, does she want to, even though it hurts like it never has. When she heard about her dad’s accident, maybe. But that pain was different. It’s not something she can compare, and she doesn’t want to in the first place. 

 

If she closes her eyes and pretends - it’s almost as if Lexa’s still there. 

 

She dreams of her that night, when she cries herself to sleep. In her dream, there’s a knock on her door, and she throws it open because she already knows it’s Lexa. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says in her dreams, and she’s just as soft as she always is with her. Was. “I found you.” 

 

“But I lost you,” she replies in a small voice, and Lexa’s holding her in her arms again, and there’s snow falling outside the window while the blanket keeps them warm in her bed. 

 

“I found myself for you,” Lexa tells her between kisses. Gathers her tears with her smiling lips. Clarke is safe and wanted and warm. 

 

“Don’t leave me. Don’t walk away from me. Please, Lexa, don’t ever walk away from me.” 

 

She doesn’t want to wake up. She has to, but she doesn’t want to. Not that day, not a day after that; not a week after that, either. Her mom says it’ll fade. Clarke knows she’s waiting for her to get over Lexa, and she doesn’t know how to tell her she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t tell her about the scheme. Can’t bring herself to think about it, but can’t stop herself from doing just that, either. 

 

Raven is, understandably, pissed. “I’ll kick her ass,” she promises Clarke when she finds her the next day after Lexa broke up with her. “I don’t care how rich or scary she is.” 

 

She’s decidedly less vengeful when Clarke tells her everything. “What the fuck were you thinking?” She shakes her head, astonished. “No - what the fuck was Finn thinking? How did he even… I don’t even know what to say,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair, taking it out of her trademark ponytail. 

 

Clarke really tries to fight her tears this time. They still come, and Raven sighs again before scooting closer to her and hugging her close. “Hey,” she whispers, rocking her back and forth. “It’s gonna be okay. Somehow. I don’t know. I just have a feeling about you two. It’s gonna be okay. Just give it time, alright?” 

 

“You don’t hate me?” Clarke manages through broken sobs. 

 

Raven sighs for the third time. “I think you fucked up on a tremendous scale, Clarke, but I could never hate you,” she says truthfully. “Plus, karma’s already caught up with you.” She winces when Clarke burrows further into her arms, shoulders shaking with tears. “Shit. Sorry.” 

 

She’s not allowed to mope around for too long. Her dad. Her mom. Her friends and her classes and a text from Finn letting her know he got fired - she barely stopped Raven from coming after him. 

 

“He’s lucky his balls are still intact,” Raven still grumbles. “Actually, both of you are lucky you’re still alive. You’re sure Lexa’s not going to like, seek revenge or something?” 

 

Of course she’s sure. She’s seen it in Lexa’s eyes, glistening and lost. It’s the worst part, she thinks. It would have been so much easier if she was the only one in love. She’d be -- well, she wouldn’t be okay. Nothing about this is okay. But if - if only Lexa didn’t love her back. She wouldn’t be hurting this much. She wouldn’t be broken. 

 

Months ago, Anya told her that one day, another pretty girl was going to break Lexa, and she can’t lie that she didn’t know it was going to be her. There’s really no way out of this. 

 

She doesn’t talk about it with her father, because she doesn’t want to hurt him, too. She knows him. She knows he’s going to feel guilty, no matter what she tells him. And he’s still weak. Still receiving treatment, slowly re-learning to walk. Around him, she wears a small smile and reassures him she’s fine. Lexa needs time. It’s nothing they haven’t anticipated. Yes, she’s being an adult about it. Yes, she’s giving her space. Yes, she attends classes and goes a little easier on her hospital shifts and makes an effort to eat healthy-ish. 

 

No, she’s not dying inside. Maybe a little. Only when she thinks of Lexa. 

 

She’s constantly thinking of Lexa. Lexa, who’s not texting her; who’s not returning her weekly call; who clearly blocks her number after she continues to try. It’s for the best, she tells herself. It’s the right thing to do. Space. Time. 

 

Days turn into weeks and weeks become months, and weekends see wine glasses become wine bottles. 

 

Winter melts into spring, and Clarke’s surprised there are any tears left in her when the last of snow disappears. 

 

She watches the trees in their park come to life and already dreads the next Christmas. 

 

_ ‘Just give me two gifts next year or something.’ _

 

It’s too painful to draw; but she can’t stop herself from opening her sketchbooks full of Lexa. Her jawline isn’t as sharp where she smoothes it with her fingers, and so she keeps sketching it back up. 

 

She’s never hated Valentine’s Day more. 

 

Raven threatens to burn the magazines she keeps buying, so she starts to hide them. Every time she walks by the newspaper stand, her heart freezes in her chest as her eyes search for Lexa on the front page of any issue. Lexa with a model on her arm, thin and tall and beautiful, just like before Clarke. But it’s never there. Lexa Woods, it seems, has gone fully private, and Clarke’s willing to bet Anya and Lincoln and Indra have used all of their influence and a hefty amount of money to keep any news and pictures of Lexa out of print. 

 

She still buys the magazines. She doesn’t know why. It makes sense to get something after she spends twenty minutes meticulously studying everything on the stands. Maybe she doesn’t want to seem crazy. Maybe she already is. 

 

It’s a good thing her friends don’t know about the letters. Or is it a bad thing? Probably. Maybe, if they knew, they would’ve forced her to actually deal and move on, in a heartless, healthy way. Perhaps that’s exactly what she needs. That’s not what she wants. 

 

She wants Lexa. And Lexa is gone. She’s not being dramatic. At some point in time, while Clarke was going through the motions, turning the pages of her sketchbook and writing letters she’ll never send, Lexa up and left. She knows because at some point in time, she broke down - again - and ran to her - again - and pounded on her door before a large gentleman with a small dog approached her. 

 

“She’s been gone for a month,” he lets her know apologetically. They used to ride the elevator together, Lexa’s neighbor tells her. Almost every day, morning and evening. It’s been four weeks since he’s last seen her. 

 

After that, it’s surprisingly easy to find out what happened. Finn is quiet and remorseful when she calls him. 

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he tells her, and she’s relieved for him when she hears how genuine he sounds again. “I don’t work there anymore.” 

 

“But you know people who do.” 

 

There’s a small smile in his voice when he tells her he’ll call her back in a minute. 

 

She’s overseeing branch offices. Anya’s accompanying her, and Lincoln’s the acting CEO. And no one knows when she’ll be back or where she’s going next. It could be Washington this week and London the next. 

 

She wants Lexa, and Lexa’s gone. And Clarke - Clarke’s pretending like she isn’t falling apart. 

 

Her father’s progress is one of the things keeping her afloat, so she clings to it. Her days are classes and hospital shifts and hospital visits. There are days when she doesn’t take her scrubs off. One of these days, her mom decides to take care of her in her own strange, unwanted way. 

 

“This is Niylah,” she tells Clarke one morning, gesturing to a tall blonde with a kind face standing next to her. “She’s a pediatrician, and she’s new to the hospital. Would you mind showing her around?” 

 

She’s never thought of slapping her own mom - and, no, God no, she doesn’t want to do it now, of course not - but she thinks she wouldn’t mind grasping her shoulders and shaking her a little bit. 

 

“My shift starts in ten minutes and I want to see dad before that. I think Jasper’s free right now.” She doesn’t wait for either of them to reply before she turns and leaves. 

 

Her mom, unsurprisingly, throws a muted, passive aggressive fit. “Niylah is a great doctor,” she tells her over dinner Clarke didn’t want to come to. “And a great person. She’s kind and intelligent and successful.” When Clarke doesn’t reply, she frowns, but presses on. “You should at least consider giving her a chance.” 

 

She should. Maybe. Probably. She just doesn’t want to. “I’m not interested, mom. I’m sorry.” 

 

Her mother sighs, putting her fork down. “Honey,” she says, and the warmth of her tone can’t hide her exasperation. “I know Lexa… means a lot to you. But it’s been four months. No matter how hard it is, you have to accept that she’s not coming back.” And she knows - she knows her mom is only trying to help. She can’t imagine how painful it must be to watch her child wither away. 

 

But she also can’t forget - and, perhaps, she can’t forgive - how ready her mom was to let dad go. How easily she gave up on him. And now, she’s trying to make her give up on Lexa. 

 

She calmly chews, swallows, and takes a small sip of her water. “I love her,” she says, then. “And if I have to accept shit, I’ll do it on my own terms.” 

 

It gets a little easier to walk away each time she does that. This time, Abby doesn’t even try to stop her. She only hears a long sigh behind her as she walks out of her apartment. It’s the third time this month. They don’t talk about it. 

 

She’s stuck in a never-ending cycle, and the worst part is this feeling of absolute helplessness. 

 

There are days when she wishes she was over her. Sometimes. When she wakes up from a dream filled with false hopes, and false things, and false Lexa. When her heart is still beating fast and her skin still remembers Lexa’s gentle touch that’s not even real; she squeezes her eyes and falls back onto the sheets that no longer smell like her, and she wonders if she’ll ever want to move on. There is something sickly satisfying about this pain. 

 

Lexa never sought revenge, so she’s doing it for her. To herself. 

 

Or, maybe, she’s just a girl in love who fucked up big time. There are a lot of maybe’s lately. 

 

To most people, however, it looks like she’s getting better. She tries to keep busy, because if she doesn’t, she knows Raven will join her mother’s efforts, and she’s not ready for parties and guests. Every time she has an excuse, it’s a valid one. She’s a med student who works part-time and has a father in a hospital, after all. 

 

Raven was right, all those months ago. Karma has really caught up with her. Still trails after her, and she doesn’t exactly object.    
  


The day her father is finally released from the hospital, she sees Lexa again. Sounds like the happiest day of her life. She wishes. 

 

It’s not even a bad meeting, as far as meetings with exes you’ve screwed over go. But Fate has a weird sense of humor. For one, she’s on the phone with her mother when it happens. 

 

“Yes, I got kale,” she tells her for a thousandth time, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why, though. We both hate it.” Her and Jake, that is. She had to go to that weird expensive supermarket packed with superfoods to get it, too, so she’s definitely not feeling her mom’s Martha Stewart streak. 

 

“ _ I don’t remember you complaining when you polished everything off last Friday, _ ” her mom reminds her on the other end of the line. “ _ Did you get sweet peas? _ ” 

  
She’s about to growl out a  _ yes _ when she realizes she’s not actually sure if she did. There’s so much green stuff in her basket. “Uh,” she mumbles, holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear and rummaging through vegetables. “Hold on. Let me --  _ shit! _ ” 

 

“ _ Clarke? _ ” Her mother’s voice is small and distant from where Clarke’s phone has landed, a couple of feet away from her, sprawled on her ass from colliding with someone. Because she wasn’t looking where she was going. “ _ Are you alright? Clarke? _ ” 

 

Out of all expensive, pretentious supermarkets, she thinks as she looks up. Out of all days. 

 

Lexa stares back, jaw slacked and eyes wide.  

 

“ _ Clarke? _ ” They both turn their heads to look at the phone, and Clarke rises to her feet, grabbing it from the ground. “ _ What happened? _ ” 

 

“Mom, I’ll -- I’m okay. I’ll call you back.” She hangs up before Abby can demand anything more. 

 

‘ _ Almost five months, _ ’ the thought races through her head in time with her fluttering heart. ‘ _ Five months. Almost five months. _ ’ She has to wonder if she’s hallucinating when Lexa continues to stand there, completely still, eyes raking over her as if she, too, can’t quite believe this. She almost convinces herself she’s dreaming again when finally, Lexa blinks and crouches, silently gathering Clarke’s vegetables and putting them back in her basket. 

 

She follows suit, all the while greedily drinking Lexa in as discreetly as she can. She must’ve just come in, since there’s no basket in her hands. Knowing Lexa, she’s here for one or two items, not more. Her suit is black and sharp, and her chestnut curls are still perfect, just as her simple make-up. She’s ridiculously put together, although what did Clarke expect? For her to roam the streets dressed in sweatpants and with a tube of ice cream under her arm? 

 

She’s not familiar with Lexa’s break-up routine, but somehow she doubts it involves any of that. 

 

They slowly stand up at the same time, and Lexa quickly licks her slightly parted lips before handing her the basket. “Here.” 

 

_ Almost five months,  _ Clarke thinks with an inner disbelieving smile,  _ and the first thing she says to me is ‘here’. _

 

“Thank you,” she replies, just as astonished, still. This is more than a little surreal. Last time she saw here, Lexa was asking her to never come back. Now -- 

 

_ Shit, _ she thinks with widening eyes before rushing to clear up any possible misunderstanding. “I wasn’t -- I’m not following you,” she says quickly. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t even know you were back. I was just… My dad’s coming home today, and mom needs kale. A-and other healthy stuff,” she looks down at the basket she’s clutching to her chest, and Lexa’s gaze falls to it, too, wide-eyes and a little shocked, still. “I’m not here because…” 

 

“Oh, um,” Lexa finally speaks up when Clarke trails off and helplessly stares at her. “I didn’t really think that.”She glances at her basket again. “I didn’t have much time to think. I’m sorry for bumping into you - I wasn’t really looking where I was going.” Her expression turns a little sheepish before she bends down and grabs something off the floor. A phone. She was probably looking at it when she turned a corner at the same time as Clarke. 

 

The urge to touch her - to make sure she’s really here - is suddenly so overwhelming she has to clutch the basket tighter. “Yeah. Me neither.” 

 

She watches Lexa nod. “Great news about your father.” Clarke almost sinks to her knees at that, because -- that’s where it all started, with her father, and yet there’s no bitterness in Lexa’s voice. “Congratulations.” 

 

She can’t do this anymore. “Lexa.” Her saying her name doesn’t make her flinch; but Clarke doesn’t miss the subtle lock of her jaw. “This isn’t working.” 

 

There’s a shadow that passes over Lexa’s features, just for a second. “I’m not going to make a scene,” she says impassively. “I’m not going to storm out, either. We are adults.” 

 

Of course not. Clarke doesn’t expect her to. But she also -- she thinks that Lexa needs to, deep down. Maybe. “I know. But I also know that this… This isn’t what I get to have after what I’ve done.” 

 

Lexa’s eyes are suddenly sharp and alert. “I don’t want to hear your apology,” she says cooly. Clarke knows. She knows why, too. 

 

An apology doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t change anything. Not at this point. “Okay.” There’s salt when she swallows. “I just… If you need to--”  _ yell. Break things. Scream and rage. _ “--I still live at my apartment, and…” Lexa’s stare flashes a dangerous jade, and she backtracks. “No, I didn’t mean -- shit. I don’t - I don’t really know what I’m trying to say.” 

 

Lexa’s face is blank. “That makes two of us,” she notes. Glances at her watch, and Clarke knows this bizarre run-in is over. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m in a bit of a hurry.” 

 

“I -- yes.” She doesn’t look away from Lexa’s face. This right here - this could very well be the last time she sees her. It’s carved from stone now that Lexa had time to collect herself. Beautiful. 

 

Breathtaking. 

 

Lexa doesn’t really reply to her whispered ‘ _ goodbye _ ’. With a curt nod, she’s gone. 

 

Clarke waits till she’s completely out of sight to grab onto the isle and lean on it, slowly breathing in and out as she unsuccessfully tries to calm down her racing heart. She doesn’t know what she expected to happen when she saw Lexa again, but it definitely wasn’t this. Definitely not like that. 

 

She’s even less prepared for what happens the next day. It’s been going so calm, too; she spent the sleepless night at her parents’ apartment, and dad made pancakes in the morning, with some help from ‘two of his favorite girls’. She went to classes and ran a couple of errands, all the while playing yesterday’s meeting over and over in her head. Analyzing what she could’ve said and where it could’ve lead while simultaneously realizing she’s so, so far from moving on. 

 

And the universe decides to remind her about it once more when she stops by her apartment to get fresh clothes. 

 

She somehow already knows it’s Lexa when she hears a knock on her door, even though she’s too afraid to believe it. Raven always calls or texts before coming over, and everyone else doesn’t drop by unless she’s invited them. And the knocking is different. Determined. Resigned. 

 

If she weren’t so forgetful yesterday - if she took more clothes to last her a week at her parents - she would’ve missed Lexa. 

 

Lexa, who’s standing at her doorstep. Disheveled. Distraught. She’s not saying a word as she stands there, as if unsure of the reason she came. Clarke’s frozen, too, and no matter how much she tries to get her mouth to work, it doesn’t want to comply. 

 

She’s here. 

 

Clarke’s not sure how long they stand there, eyes meeting and darting away, but then Lexa’s jaw muscles twitch and she shakes off her momentarily stupor. “Lexa,” she breathes. “Hey. You -- Sorry, come in.” She backs inside her apartment as Lexa enters, slowly, carefully. Her face is unreadable, and Clarke bites her lip to stop it from trembling. 

 

She readies herself for another tense, silent stand-off, when Lexa speaks, in a low voice. “Why did you tell me you’re still staying here?” 

 

Clarke blinks. This is not the question she’s expected, if she’s being honest. But Lexa’s gaze is suddenly a burning, flaming green, and she hurries to answer. “I -- I don’t know.” 

 

Her answer is clearly not the one Lexa wants to hear. “Why did you tell me,” she says again, taking slow steps in her direction, “you’re still staying here?” 

 

She wants to give her a reply that will satisfy her, but she’s not lying. She doesn’t know. “I -- Lexa…” 

 

She’s so close. She’s so close she can smell her, can almost  _ taste  _ her, and she doesn’t stop herself from deeply breathing in, savoring her scent. Letting it fill her lungs to the brim and clenching her fists so she doesn’t stupidly reach out and graze her cheek with shaking fingertips. 

 

“Why did you tell me that?” Lexa repeats - almost begs, and Clarke blinks when her eyes start to burn with moisture. 

 

She doesn’t have an answer. She doesn’t  _ want  _ to give her an answer, because it’s a foolish, foolish, desperate hope rooted deep in her chest that made her blurt things out yesterday, and she knows Lexa doesn’t need that. 

 

But Lexa -- she was always good at reading Clarke when she wanted to, and that goddamn answer is already etched across her face, spilling from blue eyes that slowly lift to lock themselves with green. 

 

_ It’ll destroy us both, _ she thinks with sudden calm. This is as far from healthy as it can get. 

 

But she doesn’t stop a shuddering sigh from falling when Lexa surges forward and captures her lips in a hurried kiss; nor does she pull away, instead choosing to let her hands act of their own accord, clinging to the front of Lexa’s crisp grey shirt. To her shoulders, next. Afraid she’ll fall if she doesn’t hold onto her. Afraid she’ll pass out any second, because it’s been  _ five long, miserable, cold, dead, dead months, but now you’re here, you’re here, and you taste the same and feel the same and I can’t -- I don’t -- _

 

“This,” Lexa pants when she breaks the kiss first, putting the tiniest bit of distance between them when Clarke tries to follow, “this isn’t what you might think it is.” And there’s no mistaking her words when her eyes look like that. Cold. Guarded. Careful as they look over her face, searching for any sign of weakness. 

 

She knows. There’s an inevitability of hurt surrounding them right now, and she lets it wash over her. She won’t make it out of here unscathed. Except -- she welcomes it. The inevitability of being ruined. 

 

She can’t stop herself from making this mistake, and she doesn’t want to try. “I know.” Her eyes never stray away from Lexa’s face. Her eyes and her lips and trembling lashes. “I know,” she repeats, wrinkling the material of Lexa’s shirt on her shoulders in her fists. 

 

‘ _ I know, but I -- anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take it, because it’s infinitely more than not having you at all.’ _

 

She hides the words threatening to escape when Lexa’s lips bite into hers again, and she only gasps when she’s lifted in the air and carried to the bed, Lexa’s steps curt and purposeful. 


	2. Chapter 2

The right side of the bed is cold when she wakes up. 

 

_ It’s like she’s never been there, _ Clarke thinks, gliding her hand down the cool, wrinkled sheet.  _ Just another dream. _

 

But there is a pleasant sting where Lexa sank her teeth in her neck last night, and she’s deliciously sore between her legs. Her whole body is humming with relaxation. Complete opposite to how she’s feeling inside. 

 

_ She’s gone. Again.  _ Third night in a row. 

 

This has been happening for a week now, and Clarke doesn't have the power to stop it. No, she knows - of course she knows all she has to do is decline and Lexa won’t show up at her doorstep anymore. Of course she knows that. 

 

She just doesn’t  _ want _ her to stop showing up at her door, no matter how empty she feels every time Lexa leaves. 

 

Her robe effortlessly slides on her naked body as she thinks back to the first night with this new Lexa. It was -- different, she muses. Definitely different, but she didn't exactly expect for it to go any other way. She's been naive enough, however, to think that Lexa didn't let her touch her because they didn't exactly have time. Abby called right after Clarke plopped onto her back on the bed, panting Lexa's name through her second orgasm. 

 

“Clarke, what's going on?” Her mother demanded, voice stern and loud. “You were supposed to be back an hour ago.” 

 

“I'm not twelve, mom,” she snapped back, looking for a bra and almost dropping her phone when Lexa tossed it at her. Not that it was a vicious throw. Just -- Lexa's abs were on display when she did that, and it was easy to become slightly distracted. 

 

(Lexa's lips twitched upward at her outburst, just barely, and she almost missed her mother’s reply.) 

 

“You're certainly acting like it.” Abby waits a second before continuing. “Are you even planning on coming home today?” 

 

Of course she was. Before Lexa stormed in, bringing a gust of winter wind with her in the middle of May, and Clarke felt snowflakes melt on her skin, under Lexa's impatient hands.

 

But -- her dad was home. Waiting for her. Small apartment, but a big home, heavenly scents coming from the kitchen and open windows letting the warmth of a spring evening in. 

 

(She was not surprised to find she preferred the cold to stay.) 

 

“I…” It was funny. How she still looked at Lexa for reassurance, as if those five months didn't exist at all. 

 

Lexa's reply was to tug her shirt back on, and she swallowed, nodding to herself. “Yes,” she breathes into the phone. “Of course I am. Be there in twenty.” 

 

“Good,” her mom said curtly. “We'll be waiting for you, then.” And she hung up, leaving Clarke alone with silently dressing Lexa. 

 

(Mere seconds ago, she had her back)

 

“I,” she said, slowly sitting down on her bed and watching Lexa swiftly button her shirt up. It was so foreign - feeling self-conscious around Lexa. It was all so wrong. “It's my mom. I have to-”

 

“You don't need to explain yourself to me.” Lexa only briefly glanced at her when she said it, and it didn't take Clarke long to decipher the real meaning.  _ I don't need to hear it. This, right here, what happened between us - this is not something that requires an explanation, or any talking at all.  _

 

Lexa’s face was blank again. No more clouded, intense gaze locked with hers. No more greedy lips burning her skin. 

 

Cold. “Yeah,” she managed to say without choking. “Okay.”  _ Next time _ , she thought wildly as she sat there, frozen, eyes roaming over Lexa's form.  _ Next time, we'll talk, and I'll show her how much I missed her. _

 

She didn't even know if there was going to  _ be _ a next time. They didn't exactly establish any rules. Lexa put her clothes back on, looked at the floor, then at Clarke - and then, she left. Just like that. 

 

It felt deserved. Her eyes stinging and her throat closing up with salt and those sheets smelling like them again, feeling like them again, yet different, bitter, cold - it all felt deserved and final. 

 

Except that was anything but final, and two days after that, she opened the door to find Lexa standing there, much more put together and much less distraught than last time. Collected, sure, and cold, she walked up to Clarke, searching her face and cocking her head to the side when she seemingly found what she was looking for. 

 

She tried to take the lead that time. Second time. Lexa didn't let her. Carefully, but surely, she pushed her hands away. Pinned them to the mattress as she rolled them over and slid her fingers through Clarke’s wet heat, same emotionless fire in her eyes Clarke welcomed and wanted to escape at the same time. 

 

She wonders if, perhaps, Lexa leaves a little more empty each time, too. 

 

She wishes she were strong enough to stop this. For both of them. But she’s not. She’s gonna drink her coffee, take her shower, go to her classes, visit her parents, and then, she’ll come back and cook dinner they aren’t going to eat, and she’ll wait for Lexa to come, knowing she might not. Hoping, deep down, that she won’t, and hoping that she would, too. 

 

As fucked up as this is, this is the most alive she’s felt in months. But it’s also -- she’s never felt this stuck in her entire life. She simply doesn’t know if there’s a resolution to all of this. She’s not sure there can be one. 

 

This story can’t have a happy ending. Maybe, this story doesn’t have an ending at all. Just them hurting each other because she’s not strong enough to let Lexa go, and Lexa’s… She doesn’t know what Lexa is and isn’t, and she’s long since learned her lesson. No more assumptions. 

 

Lexa comes when it’s dark and dinner’s gone cold, and her kisses are quick and distracted. 

 

“Hi,” Clarke murmurs after they part. This is the part where she can pretend, for a fraction of a second. Lexa’s back home from work and she made dinner and they missed each other so they’re going at it in the hallway. For a fraction of a second, as she smoothes her hands down Lexa’s shoulders and leans up to leave a warm peck on her full lips. 

 

Then, Lexa’s expressionless eyes find hers, and the illusion shatters with her dry, quiet  _ ‘hey _ .’

 

That feeling of being stuck comes back full force, and she grits her teeth at the dull ache spreading through her chest. 

 

Still, today -- today, something is different. Today, she decides to try. “Did you come here straight from work?” 

 

Lexa’s noncommittal grunt resembles a  _ yes _ as she leans in and starts nibbling at her neck, clearly not in the mood to talk. Clarke glances at the clock on her wall over Lexa’s shoulder, suppressing a sigh when Lexa grazes her pulse a little too sharply, sending a jolt straight to her core. Almost eleven. It’s a fifteen minute drive from Lexa’s office to her apartment. 

 

_ I try my hardest not stay in the office past nine, at least, _ Lexa once told her. It’s eleven. 

 

The coiling in her stomach tightens. “Did you, um - did you drive?”  _ Seriously? _

 

It does get a reaction from Lexa, at least, so it’s something. “I,” green eyes blink at her, muted surprise replacing the blank, scary numbness. “I did, yes.” 

 

“Good. That’s good.” 

 

Now that Lexa’s not blinded by their love for each other - and that’s the only way Clarke can phrase it, because even the slightest implication of Lexa’s love being unrequited hurts  _ so fucking much and if only I could get her to trust me--  _  her perceptiveness has grown tenfold, and it’s as incredible as it is scary. “Do you not want to do this?” 

 

“No, I do,” Clarke widens her eyes, rushing to reply. “I just--”  _ it’s been a week.  _ “Don’t you think we should… t-talk, perhaps?” 

 

It’s fascinating. How she can see the exact moment Lexa shuts down; green eyes growing clouded and then unreadable at all. Face blank and cut from marble in a matter of seconds. “No,” she simply says. “That’s not why I’m here.” 

 

And Clarke wants to think that her choice of words is a coincidence. But she knows Lexa and she knows her memory, and most of all, she knows the pain she’s in. 

 

And when people are hurting, sometimes, they want to hurt others to feel better.

 

_ That’s not why I’m here, _ she used to throw around any chance she’d get, looking Lexa in the eye when she knew perfectly well what a lie it was.  _ That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because of you. Only you.  _ And Lexa believed her, because why wouldn’t she? 

 

And now they are here, and she’s frozen, her mouth moving with no sound coming out because frankly there isn’t much to say. The daring, bold  _ why _ dies in her throat before it can make it to her lips. 

 

She won’t get an explanation. She doesn’t deserve an explanation. 

 

( _ Yet, _ she wants to hope, but she doesn’t deserve that either.) 

 

“Clearly,” Lexa starts when she continues to silently gape at her. “Clearly, I misread this.” She knows Lexa, her Lexa, hidden somewhere beneath the ice, wants to say  _ I’m sorry, _ but full lips twitch, once, a second, and she doesn’t. “Goodbye, Clarke.” 

 

This, right here - this is her chance to save them both, Clarke thinks with sudden, sober clarity. Let her go. Let her go and let this hole in her chest bleed out on your floor as you watch her walk away. 

 

Lexa’s startled at the desperate tug at her arm, but a second later, she’s welcoming Clarke’s trembling lips without hesitation. 

 

// 

 

She rolls away when Clarke is still catching her breath, and she rises to her feet when Clarke tries to trace the skin on her arm, fingers unsure and slow. Lexa’s fingers, however, are perfectly nimble as she effortlessly throws her crisp gray shirt on and tucks it inside her unzipped pants before fastening the belt. Well. Tonight, she stripped down to her underwear, so that’s kind of a progress, right? 

 

She watches as Lexa looks around herself, picking up her phone that slid out of pocket when she was tearing her clothes off. Her jacket is in the hallway, Clarke remembers; carelessly thrown on the floor together with her robe. 

 

This is the part she hates the most, she thinks. Because of how hollow it is. How -- routine. 

 

Something is different tonight, and she tries again. “It’s late,” she croaks out, glancing at her bedside clock.  _ 01:13 _ glares back in red. 

 

She can tell by the twitching of Lexa’s jaw muscles that she contemplates not dignifying that with a response. It’s several seconds before she seemingly loses - or wins - whatever internal battle she’s been having. “Yes. It is.” 

 

“Are you…” Her throat is suddenly dry, and she swallows, eyes still on Lexa’s face who’s not looking at her. She’s still looking around herself as if trying to make sure she didn’t forget anything. “Are you gonna get home okay?” 

  
That makes Lexa look at her with the same muted surprise she’s shown in the hallway earlier. “Of course,” she says. “It’s a short drive and the streets are practically empty.” The explanation is so Lexa - logical, precise, a little awkward - that Clarke can't hold back a tender smile when their eyes finally meet. 

 

Lexa freezes. For less than a second, just barely, but she does, and the lost expression that shines through the minuscule crack of her stoic facade is enough to wipe the small grin off Clarke’s face. 

 

_ That’s what she looked like five months ago-- _

 

“Okay,” she whispers, before clearing her throat and speaking a little louder. “That’s… good. Could you -- text me when you get there, though?” 

 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” 

 

Clarke honestly doesn’t know what she expected. 

 

But tonight’s different. Tonight is -- somehow important and Lexa’s about to leave, but she can’t-- 

 

“Are you going to be at the party?” She blurts out before she can stop herself. 

 

Lexa pauses. “It’s a little more of a formal event than a party,” she notes. “But yes. Of course. I have to.” 

 

Right. She remembers how much Lexa dislikes going to most galas and dinners and events stages by her publicists. But Clarke thinks that if they were still -  _ them - _ seeing each other, Lexa would tell her that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, they celebrate the astounding success of the experimental treatment program her dad was a part of, and she knows -- no matter the negative connotations she’s caused, Lexa’s still proud of the results. Still happy she’s had a chance to grant hope and save lives. It’s the same reason Clarke’s gone into medicine in the first place. 

 

_ Maybe that’s why Lexa came here so late, _ she thinks hopefully. There must’ve been last minute preparations that required her attention…

 

“Oh,” she says at the same time she realizes she’s run out of excuses to keep Lexa here. “Right. I’m gonna be there too. Because I want to,” she hurries to say before Lexa has a chance to bring up the fact that staff kind of has to be there, too, including interns. 

 

Lexa’s eyes still have a hint of that surprise. “Right. Good.” 

 

Is that how they are going to communicate from now on? Monosyllables, curt phrases, and awkward questions? 

 

Clarke’s prolonged silence is Lexa’s cue to leave, and she takes it, silently slipping out of her apartment and leaving Clarke to burrow back into the sheets. 

 

At least they smell like them again. 

 

//

 

She definitely should’ve skipped this party. But, as usual, it’s too little too late, and now, she’s standing on the balcony with a person she’s never expected to talk to her again. 

 

But -- well. It is Anya she’s talking about. And Anya is anything but predictable. 

 

And Lexa - Lexa’s here with a date.

 

She should’ve never come here. 

 

“Beautiful, huh?” Anya comments, distracting her from eyeing Lexa and a girl she’s never seen before. “The view from up here. Lexa sure knows how to pick them.” A quick, sharp grin tossed her way. “Party venues. Of course, I’m talking about party venues.” 

 

Of course. 

 

She sighs inwardly. Going to the balcony was not a smart move on her part. Now, she’s stuck here with Anya, no escape route in sight. In her defense, she didn’t expect her to follow her. She didn’t even see her when she looked around before Lexa’s opening speech - and she really looked, not wanting to stumble into her unprepared. 

 

Except that’s exactly what happened. “Right,” she says. “Beautiful. Yeah.” 

 

The girl on Lexa’s arm is gorgeous and blonde and they are smiling at each other, and she so shouldn’t have come here. 

 

(This tight, suffocating burning in her chest might not be her right, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling it.)

 

Anya hums next to her when her eyes inevitably drift back, to the window, where Lexa’s bringing two champagne glasses to her date. “Your father has been released from the hospital a week ago, right?” 

 

Her insides grow cold when she finally looks at Anya. “Yes. Why?” 

 

“Jesus, lighten up a little,” Anya grins in her whiskey glass. “I’m not going to break into his house and murder him. It’s not his fault you’re  _ you _ , Miss Griffin.” 

 

That’s actually something she’s been thinking about for quite some time. Lexa promised her father would remain in the program, and, of course, she kept her promise. And she did say her friends weren’t going to hurt her, but one thing was to promise her things she had control over, and another was to speak for others. Others, who had their own voice and reasons to hate her; and who weren’t blinded by their feelings to retaliate. Except nothing happened. She was even allowed to keep her half-legal internship. 

 

It’s something that’s been sitting on her chest, and the answer she hopes for is too foolish, but - now’s a good time as any to finally find out, if Anya would be kind enough to entertain her. “What about me, though? Why haven’t you broken into  _ my  _ apartment and murdered me?” 

 

Anya’s chuckle is as dark as her gaze. “I see you still have those teeth,” she comments. “Believe me, Miss Griffin, if it were up to me… You’d be out of the hospital, at the very least.” It’s much more direct than she’s hoped, and she quickly looks to the side to hide her small smile. 

 

_ If it were up to me. _

 

Lexa made sure they didn’t do anything, so maybe --  _ maybe…  _

 

Through the window, the blonde laughs at something Lexa’s said, and Clarke’s smile fades into a frown; then, a scowl, when the girl’s hand teasingly slides down Lexa’s arm to entwine their fingers. 

 

It’s not that she expected Lexa to remain celibate forever. It’s not like they are in a relationship. She tells that to herself over and over, willing herself to tear her eyes away from them and seemingly unable to. 

 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Anya warns right near her ear, and she almost jumps, clutching her chest to calm down her fluttering heart. Well, that certainly helps to distract her, she thinks as she notices Anya tracing her line of sight.

 

She wonders what Anya would consider as stupid. Causing a scene? Probably. Stalking Lexa the whole evening? Maybe. What about begging Lexa to fuck her in her bed after all of this is over? Definitely. 

 

Does Anya know about Lexa’s little visits? 

 

( _ Is Lexa even coming over tonight? _ )

 

She opens her mouth, about to respond, but Anya’s next phrase takes all the air out of her lungs. 

 

“You really did love her. Didn’t you?” 

 

(Lexa’s nowhere to be seen, just like her date.)

 

Anya’s question is rhetoric, and they both know it. She states more than she asks; and there’s something quiet, something somber to the tilt of her head. 

 

Clarke blinks. “Yes,” she still replies, even though Anya clearly doesn’t need that clarification. her stormy blue eyes meet dark brown ones. “I  _ do. _ ” The admission tastes heavy, just like Anya’s gaze suddenly looks. Weighted down by something Clarke’s afraid to identify as guilt. 

 

It does prompt her to ask her next question. “Did you… Did you know that? When you--”  _ staged it, _ she thinks bitterly, but no, Anya’s only fault was in caring for her friend. It’s all on her. “--when you heard me say that on tape, did you believe me?” 

 

Anya’s silent for a long moment before she finally speaks up, and when she does, her face is unreadably dark. “No. I believed it was a plot. I even guessed, incorrectly, that you somehow figured everything out, and that’s why you said it.” 

 

But -- “What changed?” 

 

She’s slightly relieved to see a hint of Anya’s usual smirk back. “You don’t think I followed Lexa’s orders to a  _ dot _ , do you?” her smirk widens when Clarke frowns, confused. “I still had my guy watch you. I didn’t know what you were going to do, and I was… concerned that you might have certain sensitive information that could be harmful to Lexa.” 

 

“I’d never--” 

 

“But you did,” Anya interrupts her interruption, looking less than amused. “You asked a question, now let me finish.” Clarke nods, and so she continues. “His reports were -- interesting, to say the least. Pretty sure you got him to sympathize with you.” She cocks her head to the side, studying Clarke. “I’m curious: are you used to having that effect on people?” 

 

Clarke’s frown deepens. “What effect?” 

 

But Anya’s already shaking her head. “Not important.” She leans on the rail, and Clarke mimics her, throwing one last glance at the window. She still can’t see Lexa anywhere. “You were avoiding social interactions, except with your family, of course, and you never got back with your boyfriend. Bags under your eyes, unkempt appearance. Rather… rude refusal of possible advances. And calls. Even after Lexa blocked your number.” Anya shrugs. “I expected you to be happy. A little wary at first, maybe. Waiting for our revenge. But then, when it was clear you were free of Lexa, of us - I expected you to enjoy your life.” 

 

Clarke’s smirk is humorless. That’s the last thing she’d be able to do. 

 

Anya notices. “So, no, Miss Griffin,” she tells her evenly. “I didn’t believe you at first. I didn’t even believe you when those reports of you being absolutely miserable kept coming in. I didn’t even believe you up until now. To save you from repeating your question, however...” she leans even further, over the rail, looking down at something. Someone. Lexa is walking out of the building together with her date. 

 

“You look at her the way she used to look at you,” Anya says, just a hint softer than she usually talks to Clarke, as she watches her watch them. “That’s what changed.” 

 

She can’t swallow the lump in her throat no matter how hard she tries. “Why are you telling me all this?” 

 

Anya takes a small sip of her almost-forgotten whiskey before she answers. “Who knows. Maybe I’m feeling extra chatty today. Or, maybe, I wanted a confirmation before telling you something else.” Down below, Lexa opens the door for the beautiful girl and gets in behind the wheel, Gustus nowhere in sight. “You asked me about my retaliation,” Anya says next, and the sudden dark, low dip in her voice makes Clarke look up at her. “And trust me, Clarke, at first, there was nothing I wanted more, but now I see I’m too late.” 

 

Too late? What is that supposed to mean? 

 

Whatever it is, Clarke’s pretty sure she’s not going to like it. She rarely likes anything that comes out of Anya’s mouth. 

 

She suppresses the urge to take a step back when the other woman leans towards her. “You already punished yourself, Miss Griffin. Lexa has been with a different woman every other night for the past several months. She has only recently stopped neglecting her duties. The rebound you met today is definitely going home with her tonight, and she'll never see her again after this, because there's going to be another the very next day.” Anya cocks her head to the side, watching the tears slide down Clarke’s cheek with cold interest in her gaze. “This is what you have done to the woman you love, Clarke, and that's what’s going to destroy you. Not me.” She polishes her whiskey off in one swift, clean gulp. “Have a good night, Clarke. Goodbye.” 

 

“Why--” Clarke hates the pathetic tremble in her voice. At least it still does the job. Anya stops in her tracks, and she can easily see how tense her back is. “You said -- you believed me. Now. Then why--” 

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Anya turns her head, just barely, to meet Clarke’s wet eyes with her cold ones. “You had all the time in the world to tell her everything. At every turn. But at every turn -- till the very end, you never once chose  _ her _ the way she chose you.” She’s not sure, but she thinks there’s a shadow of something deep and sad flashing through Anya’s eyes. Could be the tears. Anya’s kind of blurred now because of them. “Whether you love her or not - it doesn’t matter, Clarke. Not anymore. Not to me.” With that, she simply leaves.

 

That night, Lexa doesn’t come.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Were you gentle with her?  _

 

_ I know you. Of course you were. You opened the door for her and you gave her one of your charming smiles and your kisses were soft.  _

 

_ Were you as gentle with her as you were with me? Could she see the love on your face? In your eyes? Did you kiss her temple when you finished, did you hold her close, did you let her stay the night?  _

 

_ One of these rebounds -- one of them is bound to become something more. One day, I’ll lose you for good, and I dread it. God, Lexa, I am terrified of that day. _

 

_ I don’t even know why I’m writing this letter. It’s not like I will ever send it. Not like you’ll ever read it if I did.  _

 

_ Maybe Anya’s right. Maybe my love really doesn’t matter anymore, not to her and not to you. Maybe you believe me, too. Maybe.  _

 

_ I wanted to get drunk tonight. I couldn’t get the thought of you with someone else out of my head, and it hurt, and I wanted to forget. But I didn’t. I opened a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass and I stared at it. And cried. Funny - I thought I was all cried out already. One of these days, I probably will be, for real and for good. I poured it in the sink. I think I need this pain. I more than deserve it, but it also reminds me why I have to go on. To hold on to you.  _

 

_ Or maybe I should truly let you go. I’m so confused, Lexa, and you’re not there to guide me. I can’t believe we only spent two months together. Sometimes it feels like you’ve always been there. Helping me. Understanding me. Loving me.  _

 

_ I don’t think I can finish this _

 

Clarke draws a deep, shuddering breath. It’s almost one in the morning. She’s got five hours of sleep left, and then, it’s another day. This was supposed to be therapeutic. Now, she just feels drained, and she knows she won’t be able to finish this. So she stands up, crumples the piece of paper with words written in shaky script, and leaves it on the coffee table. 

 

She climbs into bed, and she doesn’t know if she’s dreading or hoping for a Lexa-less dream tonight. 

 

// 

 

Every night she spends alone, she thinks of Lexa in the arms of another. But she’s not -- it’s not always at the front of her thoughts, if that makes sense. There’s a life she has to lead. Friends and parents and professors and classes and hospital shifts, all over again. All over again -- but she hasn’t actually stopped. She kept going. Whatever happened, she kept going, and that’s what she’s doing now; and her mind is the same way. So on nights when Lexa doesn’t show up, she cooks dinner. Eats that dinner. Texts with friends with some mind numbing tv providing background. Thinks about the reading she has to do and upcoming parties she’ll try to skip and her dad’s doctor appointments. 

 

Her thoughts drift from one thing to another, and it’s like everything is okay and stable. Lexa’s not always at the front of her thoughts. 

 

But she’s always  _ there. _ A constant hum underneath her daily worries and impressions. She’s on her mind together with all those other mundane thoughts. It’s classes and Lexa. Her dad and Lexa. What should she make for dinner and Lexa. It’s not in-between - it’s simultaneous. She may not be the only thing Clarke’s thinking about. But she’s the only thing that never goes away, and she doesn’t want her to, no matter how much it hurts. And -- it does. 

 

Pain is another thing that’s her new constant. On nights Lexa’s not there, it’s Lexa’s hands on someone else’s waist and a sharp pang in Clarke’s heart. Lexa’s lips on another woman’s and a tear in Clarke’s chest. Some other girl basking in Lexa’s smile and embrace and soft, small kisses on cooling skin; and a bitter lump lodged in Clarke’s throat that tastes like tears. 

 

It hurts and she doesn’t want it to stop, and perhaps she needs help but she doesn’t want that, either. 

 

On the nights Lexa’s here, she’s struggling not to ask questions she knows she has no right to ask. 

 

_ Do you remember their names? Do they know about me? Do you ever see them again? Do you want to see them again? _ She saves them for her letters that she doesn’t have the heart to burn. 

 

Sometimes, she slips. Like right now. 

 

“Leaving so soon?”  _ Are you going to her now? Which her? _ Sometimes, she wishes she could turn her mind off. Just for a second. 

 

Lexa’s fingers slow at the top button of her shirt, and she’s careful when she’s picking her tie up from the floor. “Have somewhere to be,” she offers as an explanation, as curt and almost-biting as Clarke’s question. She didn’t -- she didn’t mean to sound demanding. And she didn’t, not really: the words are softly whispered into the room as she watches Lexa from the bed, a thin sheet to her chest. But the message is not soft, isn’t meant to be barely spoken. It’s something she doesn’t get to ask for. 

 

And she knows that, but sometimes -- sometimes, she slips. 

 

Like right now. “It’s just -- I made dinner.” 

 

She’s not sure Lexa will even acknowledge that, but she does, after a brief pause. “I know. The, um, the smell -- it smelled good, in the hallway.” Lexa doesn’t look at her as she says that, too busy looking around for her cufflinks. At least that’s what it looks like. 

 

But that’s not what it feels like, and it’s different again; different from their usual nights, and so Clarke decides to try. She didn’t get anywhere last time she did. But -- what if tonight… 

 

“It’s that enchilada casserole y--” y _ ou like so much, _ she almost says, but that’s not a slip-up she can afford. “With, um, chicken.” She feels ridiculous. Choking on a word mid-sentence and describing a dish to someone she’s just had sex with. Still naked under that sheet. It’s absurd.    
  
Lexa must think so too, because the corners of her lips twitch, restarting Clarke’s heart. “It  _ is _ a great casserole. I remember burning it.” 

 

Clarke remembers it too, and she can’t help a smile, however nervous it is on her lips. “Honestly,” she says, voice a little stronger, “I still don’t have any complaints.” 

 

That night, they barely avoided a disastrous kitchen fire. In Lexa’s defense, it wasn’t her fault. They were so busy making out on the couch that they didn’t hear a buzzer. She still remembers Lexa’s guilty puppy face and her kisses, shy and embarrassed, when Clarke cooed and leaned in to console her. She also remembers how heavenly sweet and sour sauce tasted on her lips later, when they threw the dish out and got Chinese instead.

 

_ You can burn every dinner we make if that means I get you back. _

 

She only realizes she’s staring when Lexa averts her gaze, looking out the window and heaving a deep sigh. It’s the most emotional Lexa’s got with her since that night before the hospital party. She’ll take frustration and annoyance over nothing. 

 

“I know what you're doing.” Lexa's voice is quiet, but it's still startling to hear its sound after prolonged pause; but more startling is the emotion within. Raw and desperate. Hurt. That's all they've been feeling, Clarke thinks, almost apathetic. That's all they've been doing. 

 

“Well. That makes two of us.” Honesty is good. 

 

Lexa's scoff is almost immediate. Irate. Irate is good, too. It's an emotion, right? And any emotion is better than none. “Right. Because that's believable.” 

 

“No, Lexa,” she rises from the bed, discarding the sheet altogether, because, really, it's nothing Lexa hasn't seen before. “Tell me, what am I doing?” 

 

Sometimes, she slips. And, sometimes, she snaps. 

 

Surprise is evident on Lexa's face, but it's quickly replaced by barely concealed anger. To someone who doesn't know Lexa, she suddenly thinks, it wouldn’t even be noticeable. But she does know her. Lexa split herself open and bare before her, willingly and unconditionally. 

 

And then, Clarke cut right through her. 

 

“The question,” the words tremble on Lexa's lips when she speaks, “the question isn't what you're doing, but why.” She can easily see that Lexa's trying not to say what she says next, but in the end, something inside her, something that Clarke’s hoped and prayed was still there, wins. “Why -- what do you want? What are you trying to get out of this?” And it seems neither Clarke nor Lexa expect what comes next. “Your father is alive and well. You are safe from me and my people. We are not plotting our revenge against you or your family. You're free to go on with your life. Why -- why are you doing this, Clarke?” 

 

Lexa sounds defeated. Looks defeated, too; it's in her slumped shoulders and her weary face. But -- Clarke sees the same shade of that vibrant green again, and her heart squeezes. 

 

“What about you?” Her voice is quiet and strong. “Why are  _ you _ doing this? Why do you come to me? Why am I still allowed to work at the hospital? Why am I safe from your people?” With each question, she inches closer to Lexa, making sure her movements are slow and fluid. Lexa's watching her like a hawk; but, Clarke notes with satisfaction, she makes no move to step away. 

 

“You know why,” she continues, her eyes locked with Lexa’s. “And I do, too. And I -- you asked me why, and I do it for the same reason. For one reason only.” She swallows, trying to calm her heart. It's fluttering so fast she's almost afraid it’ll jump out of her chest. Because -- they are finally talking about this. And Lexa's so near, within reach, still guarded, still wounded, but more hers than she's been in months. “You're right. My dad’s life is not in danger, and I'm not, either. I don't have anything to get out of this anymore.”

 

“Everyone has something to get out of being with me.”

 

_ Being with me. She said -- so that means she's thinking about me being with her, actually being with her-- _

 

Clarke’s breath hitches in her throat so suddenly she chokes on air, coughing. It must look ridiculous: her, naked, paused mid-advance, coughing to clear her throat, but she doesn't care. Lexa's words pulse in her ears, travel down to her chest, imploding there, spreading warmth. 

 

_ Being with me. _

 

She had to shake her head to concentrate on the first half of Lexa's sentence. If they're being honest tonight, she's going to go all the way. “I know… I know that I'm the last person you'd trust right now.” 

 

“Correct.” Lexa's words are cold, but her eyes are wild. Almost scared as she alternates between looking at Clarke and at the door behind her, as if she's ready to bolt any minute. She probably is. 

 

Which means Clarke’s running out of time. “That's why I'm doing this,” she says hurriedly, taking two quick steps forward. Lexa stands her ground, but it's visible how much effort it takes. “I don't -- I wasn't lying to you earlier. I really have no idea what I'm doing. All I know is… I want your trust back,” Lexa flinches at that, and Clarke has to restrain herself from taking the final step to gather her in her arms, because she's pretty sure it won't be appreciated. Not right now. “I want your trust back because I --” it's hard. To finally get the words out. But she pushes through, because Lexa looks so pale and her eyes are more on the door than on her. “I -- because I want you back. And I want you back because I lo--” 

 

“ _ Clarke _ .” She’s never thought her name could convey so many things. Desperation and a plea to stop and anger and pain and this  _ aching _ need that reverberates through both of them. The need that, in the end, Lexa pushes aside. “Don’t.” Her gaze is sharp, and it cuts Clarke to the bone. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t, okay?” A bitter, cold smile plays on her lips as she hastily finishes tying her tie and adjusts her collar. “Just -- don’t. If you want to continue, then we continue, but this isn’t going to go any further than that.” Lexa’s lips twitch, and Clarke tastes salt as she feels her face start to crumble. “If you’re not okay with that, then I -- then this is it.” 

 

She’s proud of the way her voice almost doesn’t crack when she speaks up, stopping Lexa in her tracks, halfway outside the bedroom door. “Your cufflinks,” she says quietly. “You’re still missing your cufflinks.” 

 

Lexa doesn’t turn when she replies. Clarke reasons it’s easier to sound cold this way. “If you find them, throw them out. Or -- do whatever you want. It’s up to you.” She grows silent, then, and Clarke, who’s climbed into her bed and is now staring at her lap and watching small wet dots slowly grow on the sheet, is almost sure Lexa disappeared in thin air when she speaks again. Still cold, but softer. Snow replacing the ice. “You have my number. When you make a decision, let me know. Until then, I’ll stop coming here.” She hears a small rustling. A barely audible sigh. 

 

“Goodbye, Clarke.” 

 

Footsteps grow further, and when the door shuts with a soft click, she finally weeps. 

 

// 

 

She doesn’t text her for another week. 

 

Lexa has made it very clear that she’s not ready for Clarke’s apologies and confessions.  _ Not ready, _ Clarke scoffs at herself inwardly.  _ She doesn’t want them. Don’t lie to yourself. _

 

And, since that’s exactly what pours out from under her fingertips when she opens a chat with Lexa, she doesn’t text her. Lexa doesn’t want to hear anything that’s more than a casual hook-up would allow, and Clarke, it turns out, isn’t ready to fully succumb to being just that. 

 

Before, she had a wild, foolish hope that Lexa would forgive her in time, but -- now that she thinks about it, why would Lexa do that? She hasn’t exactly done anything to prove herself to her.  _ Spreading your legs for her isn’t exactly something that earns you trust, _ she tells herself bitterly. And that’s all she’s been doing. Now, she has no idea what she’s going to do. 

 

So no. She still hasn’t texted her. And, true to her word, Lexa hasn’t come to her since. 

 

She has no fucking idea what she’s going to do now. How does she win her back if that’s not what Lexa wants? 

 

She doesn’t. She lets her go. Lets her heal on her own. Lets her find someone who helps her do just that. And she never sees her again. That’s what she should do. That’s what her mom would tell her to do, and that’s what her father would support, too, if she told them about this. But she didn’t. The only people who know about Lexa and her are Lexa and her. 

 

(She takes some kind of twisted satisfaction in knowing that it’s something only two of them share. No one can touch that. Anya, Raven, mom, dad, an endless stream of girls coming in and out of Lexa’s bedroom - none of them can touch that. In this fucked up way, a part of Lexa is hers, and only hers.) 

 

Except she hasn’t texted her, and she can feel Lexa slipping through her fingers. 

 

Maybe she should finally tell someone about this. Maybe, she really needs help in untangling this mess, because God knows she’s not equipped enough to deal with this alone. Not anymore. But who would she tell? Raven’s got her own problems going on. Octavia wouldn’t understand. She’d probably say something about Lexa and they’d end up fighting. Her mom is out of the question for the same reason. Her dad? He can’t handle too much stress. She doesn’t want him to worry. He needs to rest, and it’s still a long road to recovery. Besides, today they are going out to dinner for the first time in months. Even if she wanted to share her burden with him, today’s definitely not the day. 

 

So she puts on a smile, picks her parents up from their apartment, and drives them to some restaurant her dad’s wanted to check out for a long time. “It’s a surprise,” he tells them when they, particularly Clarke, demand to know where he’s taking them. “It’s something new, but I think we’ll like it. Take a turn here.” 

 

She does. She takes a turn, and another, and another, and it’s only a block away from the mysterious place that a terrifying guess flashes through her mind. 

 

But it can’t be. Why would her father be interested in russian cuisine? 

 

Yet, for some reason… 

 

“It’s a russian cuisine restaurant!” Jake announces when she pulls up in front of the place. She already knows it is. Because she’s been here. 

 

Fate has a sick sense of humor. “Oh,” her mom says from the backseat, sounding pleasantly intrigued. “I have no idea what it’s like.” 

 

“Me neither,” Clarke’s dad nods, opening the door and slowly climbing out of the car. “That’s why I wanted to check it out. I want us to do something new every week.” He stretches his limbs and deeply inhales, smiling at her as her opens the door for her mom, and Clarke can’t help but smile back while her mind works a mile a minute.  _ So she took you to this place for your second date, _ she tries to calm herself down.  _ Big deal. It doesn’t mean she’s here now. You’ll just have to sit through a dinner with your father at a place where you were lying to your one true love to save him.  _

 

No biggie. 

 

“Every week?” Her mom chuckles, and Clarke watches as she beams at Jake when he drapes an arm around her shoulders. “That’s ambitious. Even for you.” 

 

“I wanted to shoot for every day at first but then I remembered how grumpy you can get,” her retorts, and his laugh is loud and full when his wife lightly slaps his chest. “You coming, pumpkin?” He throws at Clarke who’s still in the car, biting her lips. 

 

His voice brings her out of her thoughts, and she cringes. “Pumpkin? Really?” 

 

“I’m still looking for a suitable nickname for you, oh daughter of mine.” 

 

She rolls her eyes at him as she finally gets out of the car, locking it. “Clarke works just fine for me, dad.” 

 

“Are you sure? It’s so dull.” 

 

She gapes at him while Abby laughs. “You named me!” 

 

“So?” At her pout, he grins and pulls her into a quick hug. “Aw, come on, poodle, you know I was joking.” 

 

“Gee, I can’t decide which is cuter: being a vegetable or a dog,” she deadpans, getting out of his embrace. 

 

“I thought poodle was cute,” her mom laughingly comments as they start to walk to the restaurant. “It’s from that movie - what was it, something about cheerleaders?” 

 

“ _ But I’m a Cheerleader, _ that’s a good one,” Jake nods. “What do you think, Clarke?” 

 

_ Whether or not I should fake having a stroke.  _ “Uh, yeah, it’s good,” she says distractedly, looking around as they walk in. It hasn’t really changed much since the last time she’s been here. Almost a year ago. And she hasn’t been here long, because she didn’t really like it, but of course Lexa had a back-up plan. And they ate and talked and laughed and Lexa’s lips touched her cheek for the first time that night as she walked her home-- 

 

“Clarke? You okay?” 

 

She blinks at her father. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. A little tired.” 

 

What are the chances of Lexa being here, at one of her favorite restaurants owned by someone she knows on a Friday night? Clarke hopes they are pretty slim. But Clarke’s hopes are almost never answered by the universe these days. 

 

“Clarke.” Her dad’s voice is quiet and careful as he looks past her shoulder. They are already seated at the table he’s reserved in advance. 

 

“What?” She lifts her eyes at him, placing the menu she was studying back on the table. “What is it?” 

 

“Honey,” her mom speaks next, in what she probably thinks is a soothing voice. To Clarke, she sounds tense and apprehensive. “Lexa is here, right behind you.” She purses her lips when Clarke freezes. “Do you want to leave?” 

 

“Too late,” Jake says in a casual tone. “She saw us.” 

  
Then, both Griffin women watch, horrified, as he smiles and waves at Lexa. And he doesn’t simply wave at her to acknowledge her presence. He’s waving at her to come over. 

 

Clarke still hasn’t turned. She’s not sure she can. 

 

“Jake!” Her mother’s eyes are wide as she hisses at him. “What are you doing?” 

 

“Mending our daughter’s heart.” 

 

Neither Clarke nor her mother have a chance to react, because Lexa’s standing near their table a second later. looking and smelling just as good as Clarke remembers. 

 

Goddammit. “Mr. Griffin.” Lexa sounds mildly surprised. To Clarke. She’s more than sure her parents won’t pick up on that. “It’s good to see you. You as well, Mrs. Griffin.” Green eyes lock with blue, then, and she watches Lexa swallow, subtly. “And -- Clarke. Hello.” 

 

She licks her suddenly dry lips. “Hey. Hi.” 

 

“Come on, Lexa, you know it’s Jake for you,” her father says with a smile after Abby murmurs her own greeting. “Oh, we’re not -- we’re not interrupting anything, are we?” 

 

Clarke locks her jaw, willing herself to look away from Lexa and letting her gaze fall on the menu before her as she waits for her to announce she’s here with someone. On a date. 

 

_ Maybe she brings all the girls here for the first date. Who knows.  _

 

“Oh, no, it’s fine. My friend owns this place and I came by to greet him, that’s all.” 

 

Clarke lets out a quiet, relieved breath. 

 

“Ah, I see. I heard a lot of great things about this place. You come here often? Hey -- why don’t you sit with us?” He stands up, placing a friendly hand on Lexa’s shoulder and gently but firmly guiding her to a chair. Right next to Clarke. She’s honestly ready for someone to shoot her at this point. “Of course, if you’re not busy - but it’s a Friday night. It’d be a crime to be busy on a Friday night. With work, that is,” he winks at Lexa, and Clarke almost chokes. 

 

Lexa looks about as comfortable as she feels, which on a scale from ten to zero is about minus infinity. She clearly didn’t expect Clarke’s dad to be this quick and this assertive. “Yes,” she says and clears her throat as she sits. “Right.” 

 

“Jake,” her mother tries to save the situation, and Clarke shrinks inwardly because she just knows she’s about to make it worse. Her fake pained smile is indication enough. “Jake, I think Miss Woods definitely has other things to do and we’re being rude by keeping her here.” 

 

Her dad opens his mouth to reply, but Lexa beats him to it. “It’s Lexa,” she tells her mother. “And it’s fine.” 

 

“See?” Jake looks nothing short of triumphant. “It’s fine. So Lexa, how have you been?” 

 

Clarke feels Lexa’s every movement next to her, and her cheeks feel flaming hot. They only grow hotter when Lexa shifts, and her elbow touches her arm. “Good. Had to make a couple of trips.” Clarke steals a quick glance at her. She can’t help a small, adoring smile when she watches Lexa blink and play with a napkin, not knowing what to do with her hands. “I have to say I’m very glad to see you, Jake.” She gives him a small, genuine smile. “And I hope to never see you at my hospital ever again.” 

 

Jake laughs. “I definitely agree with that. I think we all do. Right, Clarke?” 

 

She curses under her breath. And -- she loves her father. More than almost anything in the world. But right now - right now she wouldn’t mind pouring her glass of water over his head. 

 

Okay, fine. Maybe she also wouldn’t mind giving him a giant hug for this, either. She’s having some extremely conflicting feelings. “Of course,” she says slowly, meeting Lexa’s eyes with her own again and letting the world fade. 

 

She hasn’t seen her in a week. A long, torturous, awful fucking week, all because she held onto her foolish hope and it hurt worse than she thought it would when she had that hope shattered. But -- is it? 

 

Lexa’s eyes burn through her, and for the first time in months, it’s not the freezing type of burn. Perhaps, they needed that week apart. “I thought you hated russian food,” Lexa suddenly speaks. It’s quiet, but Clarke hears her perfectly well, in this small world of theirs. Only big enough for the two of them. 

 

She notes light bags under Lexa’s eyes that can’t be concealed with makeup, since Lexa doesn’t use much of it in the first place. She’s not sleeping well. Is it because she’s not spending her nights alone? 

 

“You tried russian food?” Just like that, their little bubble is burst. Clarke’s dad sounds more amused than disappointed. “And you didn’t tell us?” 

 

“I -- I’ve been here before. Once.” 

 

It’s not hard to reach the conclusion from here, and her dad does. “Oh.” 

 

It’s all suddenly too much. “Excuse me,” she mumbles as she gets up from the table. “Be right back.” The bathroom meets her with a subtle lemon scent and cold water. She splashes some on her cheeks. Evenly breathes in and out, or at least tries to as she looks at herself in the mirror, hands grasping the pleasantly cold countertop. This is more than a little surreal. Lexa, with her parents, talking to her father like nothing’s happened. Like it’s just another family outing. 

 

Family. 

 

She’s pictured introducing Lexa to her parents, sure - in fact, she already did, back in her dad’s hospital room when he woke up. And she’s pictured them having dinners together, of course she had, but she’s never imagined it to be this awkward. After Lexa’s last visit, she didn’t expect them to happen  _ ever. _

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

She sharply turns her head, and her gaze collides with Lexa’s who is standing several steps away from her, hands behind her back. “Yeah. I -- thanks. For asking.” 

 

“An unusual thing to be thankful for.” 

 

_ Not when it comes to you. _ “I’m sorry for this mess out there,” she gestures weakly, turning the water off and standing upright. Her skirt is a little higher than it was before, and she notices only when Lexa’s gaze travels there and doesn’t immediately makes it to her face. She quickly fixes it, feeling her cheeks heat up again. “My dad -- he’s enthusiastic.” 

 

Lexa’s smile is as genuine as it’s unexpected. “I noticed,” she says, not unkindly. 

 

“I didn’t take them here,” Clarke hurries to say, suddenly terrified that Lexa will assume the worst. “I’m not stalking you. It was my dad’s idea, and I don’t--” 

 

“I know, Clarke, he told me,” Lexa says. Her smile fades, but it’s still there. “And you’re definitely doing the opposite of talking.” 

 

Right. She hasn’t texted her. “I’m -- sorry.” 

 

Lexa shrugs. “Don’t apologize for making a decision. It was your call.” It’s infuriating - how detached she sounds. And painful. God, so, so fucking painful. 

 

“I didn’t make a decision.” She watches Lexa take a step towards her. 

 

Green eyes darken just a touch. “No?” 

 

“No.” 

 

Lexa hums. Gives her a quick onceover - Clarke has a feeling she didn’t mean to let her gaze wander, and her guess is proven right when she notes a flash of self-annoyance in her eyes. “And if I asked you to make it now?” She’s different. Again. Clarke thinks it’s a good different. She can’t quite place a finger on it, but something about her -- something in her gaze and her expression, her entire posture -- feels real. Feels almost like Lexa, her Lexa, again. 

 

She doesn’t try to hold herself back when her lips collide with hers, and Lexa doesn’t waste any time as she immediately responds. Strong arms travel down to her ass, squeezing before lifting her, and next thing she knows, her legs are around her waist and she’s pressed to the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, panting into Lexa’s mouth and staring in her eyes, wide and wild. 

 

“Lexa…” A half-whisper half-moan of her name is enough for Lexa to smash their lips together again. It doesn’t quite taste like their usual encounters. 

 

_ Real, _ Clarke thinks with a pounding heart, almost scared because it’s too good to be true.  _ It feels real.  _

 

She hears a string of moans before she realizes they are coming from her as her fingers tangle in Lexa’s mane, messing up her hair. When Lexa pulls away, she chases her lips, capturing them in another deep kiss that she breaks when she’s out of air. 

 

They spent weeks together, Lexa exploring her body over and over again in the most intimate of ways, and only here, in a restaurant bathroom, with her parents mere feet away, it finally feels like it’s going somewhere. 

 

She doesn’t know what’s changed, but her heart, that foolish thing, is telling her something that she doesn’t want to ignore. 

 

_ Maybe, just maybe, Lexa’s missed me just as much as I’ve missed her. _

 

She’s not naive enough to tell her that, of course. 

 

Lexa’s breath is hot on her lips. She rests her forehead on hers. Slowly, as if it takes tremendous effort. Clarke thinks it does. She thinks they are swinging on this swing; back and forth. Back, to resentment and hurt and betrayal; forth, to hope, future, forgiveness. 

 

Is forth even possible in their situation? Is forgiveness ever going to be on the table after her betrayal? 

 

She brings her trembling fingers down, to Lexa’s cheeks. Slowly, because she doesn’t want to scare her away. And because she’s afraid she’ll either wake up any minute or her fingers will fall through, because this isn’t Lexa, but a mirage constructed by her dreams. But Lexa’s still here. Lexa closes her eyes and presses her forehead to hers more firmly and exhales a shaky sigh when her fingers graze her skin, her thumbs smoothing over her cheekbones. 

 

She’s still here. And she’s leaning in, again, still slowly, and as a result, her nose gently caresses Clarke’s before her lips softly press to hers. And Clarke’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest with how fast it’s beating. 

 

She hooks her arms around Lexa’s neck. Presses close to her, closer, closer, until there’s not an inch left between them. These clothes seem so unnecessary. She wants to feel Lexa, all of her, fully, with all of herself. Craves her touch and touching her in return. 

 

_ Tonight, _ the thought pulses in her mind.  _ Maybe, tonight… _

 

Lexa almost drops her at the sound of a toilet flushing. Once again, their own little world is rudely torn away from them. Clarke is quickly set on the floor just before a woman emerges from a stall. She doesn’t meet their eyes, and they don’t, either. It’s silent as she quickly washes her hands and hurries to get out of there, throwing them a glance that’s half-curious and half-embarrassed. 

 

It’s awkward again. Lexa’s not looking at her and Clarke can’t stop looking at Lexa. “I -- sorry,” she rasps, hoping Lexa would meet her gaze. “Didn’t mean for it to get out of hand the way it did.” 

 

That gets her a raised eyebrow. “Sure.” 

 

Clarke only shakes her head and turns on the tap, splashing some cold water on her face again. “Thanks,” she murmurs to Lexa who gives her a paper towel. Their fingers touch, and Lexa looks on the floor again. 

 

“I really am happy your father is doing great,” she speaks suddenly, meeting Clarke’s eyes through the mirror. “Despite everything that’s happened between us, I’m glad he’s recovering. I want you to know that. That I don’t blame him.” 

 

She suppresses the urge to kiss Lexa again. To hold her close. “I know,” she simply says. “I mean, that’s the kind of person you are.” 

 

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitch. “Weak?” 

 

“Good,” Clarke says. “Incredible. With a big, amazing heart that deserves to be cherished.” 

 

Lexa swallows. “Poetic,” she notes, trying to sound aloof. But Clarke’s learned to read her tells, and right now, she’s nervous and shy. “Spoken like a true artist.” 

 

Clarke wonders what Lexa will have to say about her sketchbooks filled with her face. “I don’t have to be an artist to tell the truth.” 

 

Lexa’s face hardens, and Clarke realizes her own mistake too late. “Clearly,” she comments dryly. “You don’t have to be an artist to lie, either. Guess it’s just a happy coincidence.” 

 

Swings, Clarke thinks. Back and forth. Back. Forth. 

 

Back. 

 

“Lexa--” 

 

“You could’ve asked me.” The interruption is quiet and shaky. Lexa’s not looking at her again. “You know? You could have reached out to me. You work at my hospital. Your mother works at my hospital. Your boyfriend was one of my employees. I’m not that hard to find, and, sadly, I’m not a stone cold bitch.” Her voice is trembling more and more with each word. “You could -- you could have asked me to help you. And I would have. Without…” 

 

_ Without me using you and lying to you and breaking your big, beautiful heart. _

 

The sting of her eyes is familiar, and she welcomes it. “I know,” she says. What comes out is a sob, but she can’t control it anymore. “I know that, and I’ll never stop thinking about that. I’ll  _ always _ think about that.” 

 

Lexa nods. “Right. Well,” she runs her hand through her disheveled hair and grabs another paper towel to wipe Clarke’s red lipstick from her lips. “I think I need to make my decision, too.” 

 

It’s silent when she walks out of the bathroom, leaving Clarke alone with her red-eyed reflection. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_ I didn’t get rid of that letter. That first letter I wrote to you? This is so weird. Talking to you like you’d actually read those. But I’ll just pretend, for now. Pretend there can be a resolution to all of this. One day, we’ll sit in front of your fireplace and I’ll give you these letters and you’ll read them while I’m next to you. Right now you’re reading this exact sentence and pausing to kiss me, and… I feel so stupid writing this knowing that’s not how it will go down. But hoping against all fucking hopes.  _

 

_ Anyway, I didn’t throw that letter out. Initially, that’s what I was going to do. Burning it seems symbolic, but I don’t think I deserve that cleansing right now. I doubt I ever will. And God, I hate, I absolutely hate that I sound like a teenage girl with a crush. These words don’t seem nearly enough, you know? I love you. I can’t live without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s all so superficial once it makes it here, on paper. So small compared to what I’m feeling.  _

 

_ You haven’t replied to my text. I know you saw it, but it’s been four days and you’re silent. And I think I know what decision you made, but I don’t want to accept that. Not yet. Because back then, in that bathroom, I felt something and I know you felt it too. I can’t imagine how bad you’re hurting right now, and I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but I know you still feel something. I saw your eyes. I tasted your lips. You would’ve had me right there if we weren’t interrupted, and I know it would’ve been different. Or maybe I’m going insane. Maybe.  _

 

_ I don’t know if I should fight for you, Lexa, even though I know there’s still something left to fight for. I just. Do I deserve to have you back after what I’ve done? Even if you still want it, me, us, somewhere deep inside - do I deserve to have it?  _

 

_ I don’t think so. I don’t. But Lexa, if you choose to make a move, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there. Yes. I’m saying I will wait for you, however long you take. If you text me, even if it’s to say goodbye, I’ll tell you that I’m going to wait for you. Would that be manipulative? I don’t know. I just - I just want you to know that I’ll always be an option. No matter what happens. Because the thought of moving on honestly hurts more than the possibility, the very real possibility of never having you.  _

 

_ Love,  _

 

_ Clarke.  _

 

//

 

It takes Lexa several days to reply, but she does, and Clarke swears her heart has never beat this fast at the sight of a text. It leaps even higher when she reads what Lexa’s written in response, palms sweating and the inside of her cheek bitten. 

 

 **Clarke (Sat, May 13, 22:41):** _I’m making lasagna tomorrow._

 

Yes, not her proudest moment, but that was the most neutral thing she could come up with. And she really did make lasagna. Lexa loves her lasagna. 

 

(She also definitely questioned if her weird message contributed to Lexa’s silence. Maybe. Probably. But she still replied, didn’t she?) 

 

 **Lexa (Fri, May 19, 17:25):** _Is there any left?_

 

(It seems so easy, so light, and Clarke can’t shake off how wrong it feels for it to be this way.) 

 

She doesn’t wait before replying. 

 

 **Clarke (Fri, May 19, 17:27):** _No, but I could make a new one?_

 

Lexa, it seems, is also not in the mood for waiting. 

 

**Lexa (Fri, May 19, 17:29):** _ Okay. I’ll see you tonight?  _

**Lexa (Fri, May 19, 17:29):** _Is that okay?_

 

She almost drops her phone, and briefly contemplates whether  _ absolutely  _ is too desperate and does a simple  _ sure _ sound too dry before quickly making up her mind.

 

**Clarke (Fri, May 19, 17:27):** _ I’ll see you tonight :) _

 

“A smiley face,” she mutters to herself later, trying and almost failing to drive under speed limit. Lexa hasn’t texted back with any confirmation, and she has no idea when she’d be there, and she’s too afraid of spooking her to ask. “A fucking smiley face, why did I send that?” Could that put her off? It was hardly appropriate to send it - would Lexa consider it mocking and decide to pull out at the last minute? 

 

(She pinches her own thigh as her body inevitably responds to her choice of words. Hardly appropriate, her ass.)

 

(She can’t get rid of the feeling that something’s so, so wrong.) 

 

// 

 

Something is definitely wrong. 

 

Lexa knocks on her door precisely five minutes after she’s finished with cooking. She doesn’t have time to fix her hair and change her clothes, and that’s how she greets her: with a messy ponytail and a smudge of flour on her cheek.

 

She’s pressed up against the wall before she can blink. Lexa is -- gently demanding would be the words Clarke would use to describe her demeanor. The kiss isn't punishing, isn't harsh to the point of bruising; but there is urgency sizzling around the edges. 

 

She barely starts to kiss back when Lexa pulls away, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. When Clarke tries to follow, she takes a small, stumbling step back. 

 

“Hello.” 

 

She envies Lexa’s even voice, just a little. 

 

“Hey.”  _ Why’d you stop _ almost falls from her lips before she catches herself. Quite literally, too; steadies herself against the wall, because it's been another week without Lexa and she feels like a fucking junkie. But, of course, she doesn't say that either.

 

Instead, she clears her throat and attempts to straighten her clothes. An old college t-shirt and sweatpants.  _ Perfect _ , she thinks bitterly. She doubts any of those girls Lexa takes back to her apartment even  _ own _ a pair of sweatpants. Perhaps she should've cooked in a dress. Perhaps, she shouldn't have cooked at all.

 

But Lexa's nostrils are flaring as she sniffs the air, and some of the pink fades from her cheek. “Smells great,” she lets Clarke know, and she swears -- she swears there's a ghost of her small almost-smile around the corners of her lips. 

 

She wants to taste it, but she doesn't dare. “Thank you,” she says instead. “You're right on time. Um, let me go change and then--” 

 

“Oh, please, don't -- I, uh,” there it is again, this confusing shade of pink dusted across Lexa's cheeks as she stumbles over her words. Clarke blinks, sniffing the air on autopilot. No, it doesn't smell like alcohol, so she's not drunk. Perhaps she should check her temperature next. (Checking her pupils wouldn't help - even if they are more dilated than normal, it could be simple arousal, which is expected in their situation.)  

 

Meanwhile, Lexa continues. “I mean -- there's no need to change your clothes as long as you're comfortable,” she says. Clarke wonders if she didn’t intend for it to come out this soft. When Lexa’s eyes harden, subtly, she gets her answer. 

 

It’s in the middle of the world’s most awkward dinner that Lexa quietly implodes. And somehow Clarke already knows what’s coming, as Lexa silently wipes her lips with a napkin and puts her fork away and looks at her plate, still full, inhaling one, two, three times. 

 

“What are we doing?” 

 

She knew something was coming, but it still catches her off-guard. “I -- are you asking  _ me _ ?” 

 

“Well,” Lexa says, and there is something cold in the way she arches her eyebrow. “There are only two of us here.” 

 

_ Don’t forget this giant wall. _ “I don’t know, Lexa,” she starts slowly, leaning back in her chair and studying her. “I already told you. I have no idea.” That horrible feeling of being stuck is back full force, and she suddenly feels drained. Completely, fully drained. This charade of a dinner seems pointless, just like this conversation. 

 

But maybe -- perhaps she could steer it in the right direction this time. For some reason, Lexa’s willing to talk. 

 

Her heart is practically beating in her throat when she speaks up again. “I think -- I think we are avoiding things. I think we are using sex to heal or… punish,” green eyes flash at that, but Clarke forces herself to continue. “We are using sex to communicate something we can’t say.” She thinks better of adding a bitter  _ or not allowed to say _ . “And I think -- I think we both know that it can’t last forever, because… because there’s a point of no return. You go there, and you’re beyond repair.” 

 

Lexa’s face is so frozen it’s like she’s looking at a statue. “Beyond repair,” she says, quietly. Blankly. “I used to think I could survive anything.” 

 

_ Did you survive me? _

 

_ Is surviving enough? _

 

_ Don’t you deserve--  _

 

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Lexa’s suddenly on her feet, looking alive again, rattled, agitated. Her fork topples over the edge of the table, and Clarke watches as it falls with a clatter, bounces a few times. “I’m sorry.” She looks ready to bolt. Another second, and she’ll be out of that door, and who knows if Clarke will ever see her again, and -- maybe she doesn’t deserve this. Maybe she should leave the ball in Lexa’s court. It’s a lot of fucking maybes but there’s one thing that’s painfully, crystally clear to her in this very moment. 

 

She’s not going to survive losing Lexa. Not now. Not -- just not today. 

 

So she acts. “Lexa - please--!” 

 

She thinks they’ll always be back to this - Lexa’s hand in hers and their eyes locked while the world moves past. Later, she’ll worry if she squeezed too hard. If she was way out of line. If she should’ve just let her go. Later. 

 

Right now, Lexa’s hand is in hers, and her other hand is on her cheek as she stumbles into her, almost blindly. She vaguely registers another clattering noise, but Lexa’s hands are cupping her face, and she doesn’t care if her goddamn kitchen gets set on fire. 

 

Lexa says nothing when her lips finally seek Clarke’s out. Her hands are warm on her cheeks. Almost feverish. Clarke says nothing, too. She thinks she doesn’t need to. Words seem so empty, so insignificant when Lexa trembles against her lips; when she pulls away to search her eyes with her own wide ones and then dives right back in; when Clarke’s hands clutch at the front of her crisp shirt, feeling muscles ripple under her touch. 

 

They don’t need words. (She can’t stop making mistakes, it seems.) 

 

Clarke doesn’t remember how they get into her bedroom. All she feels is Lexa, surrounding her, devouring her when she’s so eager for her to do so. This isn’t like the last time. Any of their times together. It feels like forest fire: all-consuming and destructive and terrifyingly beautiful. 

 

There is only one moment when Lexa pauses. She hovers over her after they stumble in bed, and it’s a small eternity as she looks her in the eye. Searching for something. Clarke doesn’t know if she finds it, and she doesn’t know if her shaky hand on her cheek helps. But then, Lexa’s lips are on hers again, and she hopes she does. 

 

She’s almost used to how embarrassingly fast she comes undone with Lexa. (She wonders if Lexa’s used to it, too; but the awe in her eyes that she can never hide fully tells her she’s not.) 

 

It’s not -- it’s too desperate to be love making. Not yet, if ever; but it’s not cold anymore. It’s not hollow, and neither are them, and Clarke never wants to let go of that feeling of being almost whole. Almost complete. 

 

(Perhaps, that’s the closest she’ll ever get to being content.) 

 

And Lexa -- Lexa doesn’t stop there. Clarke barely manages to catch her breath when their eyes meet again. Lexa doesn’t look away as she licks her lips, suddenly, hungrily, making Clarke clench around her fingers as she watches her tongue’s slow movement, and then-- 

 

“I want to taste you,” Lexa utters, her gaze wild, and Clarke’s back arches of its own accord, a jolt of hot need shooting through her body straight to her core. 

 

It only multiplies when she watches, with hooded eyes, as Lexa slides down her body, leaving kisses and goosebumps. Slides until she reaches her destination. And then, all Clarke can do is helplessly moan as she melts under Lexa’s skillful, sinful mouth. 

 

It’s been so long since she felt Lexa in this way. So long since she quivered under her, legs wide spread and trembling as Lexa drank from her, greedily, not letting a drop slide past her lips. Lexa hasn’t tasted her since Christmas - the thought echoes in her chest, dull ache spreading and suffocating. 

 

Not now. 

 

Lexa’s hair is soft between her fingers. Almost silk-like. She focuses on the way it feels because she doesn’t want it to end too soon, even though she knows it’s a losing battle. Lexa drives her tongue inside her, once, twice, twirls it just right around her clit before giving her cunt a long, dirty, loud kiss, as messy as Clarke is on her lips - and she’s done for. 

 

The way Lexa slurps when she cleans her up while she’s in the middle of an orgasm would be funny if it weren’t so hot. 

 

She hopes she didn’t tug too hard on her hair when she was coming. But, judging by Lexa’s eyes, vibrant green and wild, as she climbs back up, she didn’t exactly mind. At least Clarke hopes so. She can’t be held responsible for her actions in bed. Not when Lexa’s doing these bad, incredible things to her. 

 

Lexa’s still here. She’s still here, with her shirt unbuttoned and her chest heaving with labored breaths. Still here, fingers digging in Clarke’s thigh and belt buckle pressing between her legs, almost too much for Clarke to handle. 

 

_ Still here, _ the thought pounds at her temples as she hooks her arms around her neck and tugs her down for a messy, desperate kiss, moaning at the taste of herself she finds in it.  _ Still here. Maybe, tonight -- tonight... _

 

Clarke’s heart almost leaps out of her chest when she reaches down to undo Lexa’s belt and she isn’t stopped. Lexa doesn’t push her hands away. Doesn’t roll away and doesn’t start dressing in silence.  _ Still here. With me. _

 

She wills her hands not to tremble when she slowly slides the zipper down. Lexa’s eyes are sparkling, and she drowns in the unreadable green. In hindsight, it should’ve tipped her off; but it’s been  _ so _ long since she’s last  _ touched _ Lexa. She can’t think of anything else, and so she doesn’t. 

 

And then, her fingers slide under the waistband of simple boxer briefs and find her  _ drenched,  _ and she swears she could go mad with happiness. It’s so unfathomable to her. She made her this wet. Lexa’s this ready for  _ her. _ And in this moment, for her alone. 

 

“God,” she rasps out, and green eyes darken. “Lexa…” She wants to touch her everywhere. Wants to feel every inch of her skin on her own. Wants to cover every inch of her body in tiny little kisses; then long, wet ones; and lazy, content ones, too. 

 

Every time she thinks it’s impossible for her to want Lexa more, and-- 

 

“No.” 

  
With one word, the reality crashes down, and she’s in ruins. 

 

Lexa’s eyes are suddenly clear and panicked. “I -- no,” she stumbles back, the movement yanking Clarke’s hand out of her pants. In a second, she’s standing on the floor, eyes frantically searching Clarke’s face. “No. I can’t do this. I can’t -- I have to go.” 

 

Clarke’s surprised she can speak through the giant lump in her throat. But Lexa looks like she’s about to have a meltdown, and everything else fades away. She springs to her feet, not caring about her nudity. “Lexa, hey,” she gently grabs her shoulders, steadying her. “It’s okay. It’s okay, please, just breathe--” 

 

“Okay.” Lexa takes a long, even breath. For a second, Clarke thinks everything is fine, when it hits her. Lexa isn’t agreeing with her. “Okay. You think it’s okay. Any of this.” 

 

“No,” her reply is immediate. “Of course not. That’s not what I meant, but, Lexa…” she chews on her bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “We were -- I don’t understand what happened.” 

 

“It’s -- it can’t be this easy!” 

 

For a long moment, no one speaks. They just stand there, frozen; the only sound is Lexa’s ragged breathing. Clarke seems to have forgotten how to breathe at all. 

 

“It can’t be this easy,” Lexa repeats, quieter. “When I look at you, and I don’t… I feel… It just can’t be this easy,” she says. “It just can’t.” 

 

Clarke finds her voice because she knows if she doesn’t, Lexa will run away. “It doesn’t -- have to be,” she stutters, confused but desperate to understand, offer a solution. “We could… I -- I could-” 

 

“No, Clarke, you don’t get it.” Lexa shakes her head. “It’s not you, it’s not us, it’s…” She sighs, clearly aggravated. With herself, Clarke suddenly realizes. 

 

She’s angry at herself, and there’s something else in the back of Clarke’s mind. A key. A guess. She thinks she’s almost got it. 

 

“I need to go.” 

 

 _It can’t be this easy._ _It’s not us._

 

Last pieces of a twisted puzzle come together as she slowly, carefully sinks to the floor and listens to footsteps, holding her head in her hands.

 

_ Forgiveness _ , she thinks, tasting the bitterness of her own smile.  _ It can’t be this easy. Forgiveness can’t be this easy. I don’t deserve it this easy.  _

 

_ ‘When I look at you, and I don’t -- hate you.’ _ Does she hate herself for not hating Clarke? 

 

How do they get out of this mess not shattered to pieces? 


	5. Chapter 5

_ You’re gone.  _

 

_ You told me it couldn’t be this easy, and then you fled. Feels like I already wrote this, over and over. You leave, and I stay, and that’s how it goes.  _

 

_ How do we break this cycle, Lexa? Do you want to break it? Do I? I don’t know. All I know is… If this is the only way I get to have you… But it can’t go on like this, can it? There will be an end to it. A resolution. I don’t know if it’ll save us or break us, but I know it’s coming. We almost reached it last night. I know that’s why you ran. I know you’re scared of believing me, Lexa. I know you’re afraid of trusting me with your heart.  _

 

_ And I think you’re right. I’m the last person who deserves your heart. But god, I want to be the person who does deserve it. I need to be that person. What if you need me to be that person, too?  _

 

_ I should let you go. But you should let me go, too. And you can’t. If you could, I wouldn’t be writing this.  _

 

_ What if there’s something else? What if we’re being told something that we can’t hear over our hurt and guilt? What if there’s a reason why we keep coming back, and even when we decide to get away, we stumble into each other?  _

_ I remember asking you if you thought we were meant to be. Right before our first time. I was upset about Finn and his words got to me, and I thought that all I wanted was to get my plan back on track. Back then, that question was a ploy. Or so I thought.  _

 

_ You never did reply to that question. I wonder what your answer would be now. I wonder if you’d want to hear what I think. And the truth is, Lexa, I don’t know. I’m afraid of thinking we are. Because if we are, then… I managed to break your heart, ruin my life, and piss off powers that be, all in two months. Dad did say I was an overachiever sometimes.  _

 

_ But what if we are meant to be? I wish you’d talk to me, Lexa. I have so many questions, and I can’t find answers without you.  _

 

_ I hate to cut this short, but Raven’s at the door. I’ll be back. I feel like I’m on the brink of something, and this helps me think. Talking to you, even if it’s not really talking to you.  _

 

_ Love,  _

_ Clarke.  _

 

// 

 

“You look like shit,” Raven announces as soon as Clarke throws the door open, giving her an unimpressed glare. 

 

“Thanks,” she deadpans. “I’m aware. I do have mirrors, you know.” 

 

“Coulda fooled me,” her friend pushes past her and makes a beeline to her couch, missing an exasperated eye-roll Clarke sends her way as she closes the door. “You’re clearly not using them.” 

 

Clarke glances down at herself, wearing one of Lexa’s undershirts she’s left behind, stretched across her chest, and at the smear of pizza sauce on her sweatpants. Well. “It’s not like I was waiting for anyone important,” she shrugs, plopping down next to Raven on the couch. 

 

“Bitch.“ Raven’s chuckles are amused. 

 

“That is brand new information.” 

 

Raven only chuckles louder, fishing a bottle of whiskey out of her bag and placing it on the coffee table, right where her boots have been before Clarke unceremoniously pushed them off the clean surface. “Keep it up and stay sober while I get hammered.” 

 

“Damn,” Clarke raises a dubious eyebrow, eyeing the bottle. Up close, it looks mildly intimidating. It's been awhile since she drank hard liquor. “Jack? What gives, any special occasion I should know about?” 

 

Raven sighs. The sound is loud and dramatic, and Clarke's definitely sure she's not about to like whatever is about to come out of her mouth. Of course, she turns out to be right. “I know you're in a delicate place right now, Griffin, so I'm gonna be as gentle as possible. You're the occasion, and this baby is here to ensure you're thoroughly celebrated.” 

 

Clarke blinks. “That doesn't even make sense.” 

 

Her friend shrugs. “Then we’re already on the right track.” 

 

She chews on her bottom lip, studying Raven, this time more closely. Noting the slight crease between her brows as she tries not to frown; her restless leg and fingers drumming on her thigh. Tries to remember the last time they really talked to each other. It can't be half a year ago, can it? 

 

Except maybe it kind of is. “Rae.” The leg stops bouncing, and she inches closes, putting a slow, careful hand to still her fingers. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“What?” Raven blinks at her. “Nothing is wrong. Why would you ask that?” 

 

“You're all… fidgety. You usually get like this when something's bothering you.” 

 

She watches as Raven sighs and runs a hand through her hair, taking it out of her signature ponytail. “If you think something's happened with me, don't,” she says evenly. “I just have more work than usual. But…” Raven visibly hesitates before continuing, and Clarke catches her pensive gaze. “I -- there  _ is _ something bothering me, and I already told you what that is.” When Clarke gives her a confused frown, she sighs again. “You, Griffin. You're what's bothering me. You've been… Something’s going on with you. I can tell. And it's cool if you don't want to tell me, I'm not pushing you, but -- sometimes, when things get tough, you just gotta get wasted with your best friend. You know?” 

 

Clarke purses her lips. Looks at the bottle on her table, full of amber liquid, and remembers all the times alcohol helped her get in messes she’s still trying to get out of. 

 

Then, she remembers last night and looks at Raven’s expectant face, and sighs. “Okay. This is not what I had in mind when I agreed to hang out, though. And we are  _ not _ finishing this whole thing by ourselves,” she warns, watching with muted amusement as Raven’s shoulders slump with exaggerated disappointment. “One drink. We’ll have one and we’ll watch a movie.” 

 

// 

 

The bottle is empty, and so is Clarke’s head. 

 

Wait. That's not true. She had -- there were thoughts. Bad thoughts. They swarmed in her head, making it difficult to stay upright, and so she slid to the floor. What thoughts were they?

 

It’s only eight pm, for God’s sake. 

 

“Grif--fin,” Raven hiccups from where she's sprawled out in the couch, a half-full glass dangerously tilting in her hand. Clarke suddenly realizes she's thinking of the ways to get rid of a whiskey stain on the carpet. The thought - the fact that she can still have some thoughts - is soothing, and she clings to it, going over detergents and ancient granny methods that include clubbing soda and something… something… “Griffin,” Raven repeats, meanwhile, a word less slurred. But still slurred. “Woods. That bitch. She -- I mean. Look at yourself.” 

 

Clarke feels vaguely offended. “What?” She glances down again, but the room begins to spin, and so she snaps her head up, fixing her gaze on the wall. “I can't,” she informs Raven. “I can't look at myself.” 

 

While she meant that purely in a physical sense, Raven completely misunderstands and jumps on it. The way she nods is fast and enthusiastic. Clarke's a little afraid her head might fall off. “Exactly! Exactly. Fucking -- exactly. You can't. No one can look at you, Clarke. You're--” another hiccup, this time louder. Clarke giggles. “You’re… with-withering.” Raven looks proud with herself for a secondat having managed to remember and say the word. “She did that to you.” 

 

The words are suddenly sobering. “Rae.” The room isn't spinning anymore. Clarke kind of wants it to. 

 

Raven waves her away, movement as sloppy as her words. “No, I know,” she struggles to say. “You did things, too. Man, you fucked up. Like, so hard. But that's… I mean.” Her eyes, narrow and uneven, squint to focus on Clarke. “It's been like, half a year. And you - you're still doing this to yourself.” 

 

Clarke feels the floor under her hands before pushing off of it and rising to her feet. It's cold. The temperature has dropped drastically now that it's night, and they didn't close the window. She does just that. 

 

“I mean,” Raven says from the couch, “everyone deserves to be cut some slack. Even you.” 

 

Clarke wonders if Raven is really as drunk as she looks. She wonders the same thing about herself. “Thought tonight was about forgetting,” she says dryly, picking up the empty bottle and wistfully staring at it. 

 

“Nope. It's about dealing.” 

 

She snorts, tossing the bottle away and watching softly land on the chair. “This is not dealing.” 

 

“Eh,” Raven shrugs. The rest of her whiskey is polished off in one messy gulp. She watches her wince and blow out a huge breath. “I'm not good with dealing.” 

 

“Neither am I.” If she were, she wouldn't have slept with Lexa. Over and over until Lexa finally found the strength to push her away - and then, she didn't let her. “I slept with Lexa.” 

 

Fuck. 

 

Raven’s face drunkenly balances between sympathetic and determined. “I know, Clarke,” she says. “I know, and your plan was awful, and then you fell in love, but you need to -- deal.” 

 

“Wait.” Clarke’s brain is hazy. “You knew?” 

 

“Well, yeah.” She blinks at the weird look Raven’s giving her. “You told me. It’s old new. It’s been half a year.” 

 

This is her chance of sweeping it under the rug - her drunk confession. Raven didn’t get it. She could carry on as if nothing happened, as if that’s totally what she meant. But she’s drunk, and alcohol helped her get in a lot of messes she’s still trying to get out. Somehow, though, she thinks this one is better than others. “No. I slept with her.” At Raven’s owlish, confused blinking, she leans further into the couch, staring straight ahead. “Recently. Really -- really recently.” She clears her throat. “ _ Last night _ recently.”

 

Raven’s silent for a long time, and Clarke is beginning to think she fell asleep on her, but she’s too chicken to look at her and check. Instead, she’s staring at her hands, clasped together on her lap. Watches her thumbs circle each other, keeping the same pace. Soothing. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Well. That’s definitely not what she expected to hear. She’s surprised enough to forget about her shame and look at Raven, who’s studying her with suddenly sober eyes. “Are you?” She implores again. 

 

“I don’t know,” comes Clarke’s quiet, honest reply. She wishes Raven brought more booze, because they are not at the point of passing out and they really should be. She knows she needs it, for one. 

 

“Was it like…” Raven looks like she’s trying to find the right word, brows drawn together in concentration. “...like a one-time thing?” 

 

“Yeah.” Clarke barks out a short laugh. “And the one before that. And another. And -- we’ve been doing this for more than a month now.” 

 

Raven’s expression jumps from clear shock to raw sympathy, and Clarke crumbles. She tells her everything. From bumping into Lexa at a grocery store to watching her run away last night. From the way her heart stopped when she saw her after those godawful months to the way it shattered every time she saw her go. She tells Raven about how sorry she is. How much she wants Lexa and how scared she is that it’s not what Lexa wants. How hollow she’s been for more than half a year, and how close she came to happiness last night. 

 

Raven’s arms around her bring little solace, and she burrows in them further, seeking heat, after the words stop pouring out of her. It’s so cold. Did she close the window? She did. How is it so cold? 

 

She doesn’t realize she’s shivering until Raven throws a blanket over her, guiding her back in her embrace. “It’s okay,” she hears. “It’s okay.” 

 

“But it’s not.” With warmth, came the ability to think clearly and coldly. “It’s not okay. I’m a mess, Rae. 

 

“You kind of are. But it’s okay. We’ll get through it.” Raven’s hand tightens on her shoulder. “And I -- I’m sorry, Clarke. Up until this moment, I didn’t realize just how deep your feelings were. I’m sorry for pushing you to move on when you’re clearly not ready. I didn’t… I didn’t think you loved her this much.” 

 

“Yeah,” Clarke says, and the words are bitter on her lips. “I don’t think anyone does.” Definitely not Lexa. 

 

Raven interprets her words in her own way. “You know,” she says gently, scooting back a little so she can look at Clarke, “if she keeps coming back, then something is still here.” 

 

“I know something is still here,” Clarke tells her. She shivers and brings the blanket closer to her body. “That’s not the problem. The problem is--” 

 

“She doesn’t trust you,” Raven finishes for her, softly, and her eyes are sad. “It’s expected. Definitely not surprising.” 

 

Clarke chokes on her sob. “I don’t know what to do,” she tells her, breathless. “I don’t know what to do, Raven.” 

 

“You earn her trust back,” her friend says, easily. Easy, as if it’s nothing more than a walk in the park - earning the trust you’ve shattered. “I can’t tell you how to do that. But, Clarke,” Raven’s hands are calloused and warm around hers. “She keeps coming back, doesn’t she? If she didn’t want you to at least try earning it back… I don’t think she’d show up here after the first time. Or second. Or third.” 

 

Raven’s words pound in her heart long after they go to sleep. 

 

// 

 

She can’t, for the life of her, figure out how she ends up here. And yet, she can, perfectly clear. 

 

She didn’t go to sleep. After Raven passed out and she made sure she’s passed out, she sneaked out and called a cab, and now she’s here. In front of Lexa’s door. It’s almost midnight. What is she doing? 

 

_ ‘If she didn’t want you to at least try earning it back--’  _

 

She just -- she just had to see her. Telling Raven everything made her re-live all of their moments together; feel everything she’s felt all over again, and she -- she just had to see her. To talk to her. To tell her that she won’t stop until she’s proven to her and to everyone else that she  _ can _ be trusted, and she wants to be trusted, and there’s nothing she won’t do to make her see-- 

 

A knock sounds unsure, at first. Almost silent. She doesn’t know if Lexa’s even heard it. So she knocks again, louder. When there’s no answer, she tries once more, the sound echoing in her head. Lexa’s probably not home. This has been a waste of time. She never should’ve come here. All these thoughts race through her head as she continues to knock, already knowing it’s in vain. Steadily increasing her strength and volume. 

 

She’s almost about to turn around and leave when the door is thrown open, and she barely manages to stop her fist from landing on a girl’s nose. A girl who’s not Lexa, and who looks less than amused. 

 

(A girl who has blonde hair and blue eyes and they are the same height and the same build and she’s wearing Lexa’s shirt and Clarke suddenly can’t breathe) 

 

“Kate, what did I tell you?” Lexa’s voice booms from within the apartment, growing closer. “Did you ask who it is before opening the door?” 

 

“Kinda wish I had,” the girl - Kate - mutters, studying Clarke with dangerous interest. “I have a feeling this is for you.” 

 

“Who is -- oh.” 

 

She has difficulty tearing her eyes from Kate’s barely-clothed form, and when she does, her gaze stumbled upon Lexa’s bare feet and soft grey sweatpants paired with a white undershirt. She looks like she was in bed before Clarke came. Both of them look like they were in bed. 

 

Her heart constricts in her chest, painfully, sharply, and she swallows. Takes a step back and rubs her eyes, blinking, as if it’ll help her unsee it. As if it’ll get rid of Kate who’s standing next to a soft, open Lexa. 

 

(Kate who looks like--) 

 

“Go back to bed,” Lexa murmurs to the girl who’s still eyeing Clarke with an unreadable expression. “I’ll join you in a minute.” 

 

(It hurts to the point where she suffocates - hearing Lexa say these words in this voice to someone that’s not her.) 

 

Kate only nods and quickly walks away, clearly having no interest in being involved in some drama that has nothing to do with her. Clarke’s grateful for that, at least. She’s not sure she’d be able to handle a catty brawl. 

 

“Clarke.” Lexa steps out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her with a soft click and staring at her with something akin to disbelief. 

 

“You should put your shoes on,” Clarke points out, dropping her gaze to Lexa’s feet on a concrete floor. “It’s cold.” 

 

Lexa doesn’t reply to that. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“I…” She had a speech planned, she did, but seeing  _ Kate _ made all the words leave her head, and she’s left here to gape at a frowning Lexa. “I was -- I, uh…” 

 

Lexa’s frown deepens. “You’re drunk,” she states quietly. Clarke huffs. She’s not. Not anymore. She’s mostly sober. And if she weren’t before, then after Kate… 

 

Which reminds her. “Lexa,” she breathes, glancing past her shoulder to where Kate has gone. She's nowhere to be seen anymore - Lexa's bedroom is further down the hall. Lexa's bedroom. She's only been here a handful of times - for some reason, they spent the majority of their time together at Clarke’s place. And now, this girl is here, and-- “Lexa, this is -- she’s -- who is she?” 

 

_ Why does she look like-- _

 

Lexa's frown is a scowl now, angry and hurt and directed at Clarke and no one else. “Does it matter?” She asks, sharply. 

 

_ It does, _ Clarke thinks,  _ when she looks like me _ . Or does she look like Kate? 

 

_ Lexa, what are you doing? _

 

“I -- no, but she's… Lexa, what… why--” 

 

Lexa, of course, decides to completely misinterpret her confusion, and her scowl deepens. “No,” she says, and her voice is a growl, low and rumbling. “You don't get to do this. You have no right to…” she trails off with an agitated sigh, running a hand through her hair. Disheveled, Clarke notes. Wavy and finger-brushed. 

 

Was that her own doing, or was it Kate’s? 

 

“You shouldn't have come here,” Lexa tells her, tensely. Her whole body is coiled, and when Clarke glances down, she sees her hands curled in fists at her sides. 

 

She's right. But Clarke is already here, and okay, maybe she's still a tiny bit drunk, and her filter always seems to disappear whenever there's alcohol in her blood. “Lexa,” she whispers, as if she's about to let her in on a big secret. “She looks like me.” 

 

For a second, Lexa looks like she's about to punch through a wall. Clarke's staring at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Her eyes map out her face, her downturned lips that are tightly pressed together, the arm muscles that ripple under soft skin each time Lexa clenches her fists harder. 

 

It takes Lexa at least several seconds to reply, and when she does, her voice is scratchy and tired. “You're not the center of a universe.” Her feet must've grown cold, because she shifts from one to another, and at once, all the tension leaves her body. “You should go, Clarke,” she tells her impassively. “I'll call you a cab. Please wait here.” 

 

Clarke dutifully waits till Lexa and her bare feet get off the cold floor, and then, she turns on her heels and walks home, head blissfully empty for the time being. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two week hiatus after this chapter.

Clarke wakes up to a dry throat and a pounding headache. A headache that’s echoed in each hurried knock on her door. No. That’s not right. Each knock on her door echoes in her head, bringing forth a new wave of dull pain and nausea. 

 

Her arm shoots out, blindly searching for Raven on the other side of her bed. That’s when she realizes she’s not, in fact, lying in her bed. She’s on a couch, and her sudden movement sends her tumbling to the floor. 

 

And the knocking is still there, growing more and more persistent. 

 

“Ugh,” she groans. “Rae. Raven!” 

 

Nothing. Either she’s still dead asleep, or it’s her at the door. Maybe she went out to get some food and forgot the key. For some reason, that seems so plausible Clarke doesn’t even try to make herself look presentable - or at least slightly resembling a human being. She slowly rises to her feet and trudges to the door, rubbing her temples. Her headache is so massive she doesn’t even have any energy to yell at Raven to stop knocking. 

 

“i hope you got something greasy, because--” it’s not Raven. It’s not Raven and the words are lodged in her throat as she freezes after throwing the door open, mouth hanging open. 

 

Lexa stares back, and her gaze is sharp and angry. Seeing her there jostles Clarke awake, fully and completely, and with that, comes a realization. It’s still dark outside. 

 

“What…” She clears her throat, still too shocked at the sight of Lexa outside her door. “What time is it?” 

 

“It’s almost one in the morning,” Lexa informs her in a low, bristled tone. Oh. So only a couple of hours have passed since she went to her and met Kate. And then came back and desperately tried to drown out everything that’s rushing in right now with all the alcohol she could find. Which wasn’t much. Only half a bottle of wine. Clarke’s not really sure if it was a good thing. 

 

Okay. So it’s one in the morning. That still doesn’t explain why she’s here. And, because Clarke’s still a little bit drunk and also hungover, she doesn’t bother herself with thinking before speaking. “Okay. What are you doing here?” 

 

The sigh Lexa heaves in reply is long and exasperated. While she takes a pause, Clarke gets the chance to study her - mildly disheveled - appearance. Dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt under a black coat. It doesn’t clash, but it doesn’t quite match, either, and Clarke blinks in muted surprise. She’s never seen Lexa wearing something that didn’t  _ click _ . Everything about her clothes is puzzle pieces coming together to form one clear picture. Even wearing Clarke’s sweatpants and her undershirt, Lexa still managed to look like a model, ready for a domestic photoshoot. Right now, though; right now she looks like -- she looks good, but she clearly didn’t pay any attention to what she was tugging on herself. 

 

She didn’t even know Lexa  _ owned _ sneakers, for God’s sake.

 

Clarke realizes she’s taken too much time idly staring at her when Lexa clears her throat with slight indignation. “What am I doing here?” Her gaze bores into Clarke as her voice tilts. She sounds incredulous. And tired. 

 

But Clarke’s tired too. And still hungover. “Well, no offense, but you kind of made it very clear where we stood. About an hour ago. You being here is very contradictory.” Did she mention she was still drunk? 

 

“Two,” Lexa says coolly. 

 

“What?” 

 

“It was two hours ago.” 

 

Clarke sighs. “Does it matter?” She’s finally fully aware of her surroundings, and she hates it. And, perhaps, for the first time since falling in love with her - or for the first time since she’s met her, even - she really doesn’t want to see Lexa. Because when she looks at her, she doesn’t just see her. She sees Kate’s hands around her waist and Kate’s fingers lightly scratching at her abs and Kate’s lips pressed to her cheek, neck, eager mouth, and her heart hurts worse than her head. 

 

She knew Lexa was seeing other girls, but all this time, it’s been an abstract concept. Empty faces and shapeless figures and Lexa, still hers in a fucked up way. But now that she’s met one of them, it’s become… real. She has a face and she has a name and, worst of all, she has Lexa. 

 

Lexa, who’s still standing in her hallway and glaring at her. “I guess it doesn’t,” she says, almost absentmindedly. Her sharp gaze trails over Clarke, quick and calculating, and she’s reminded of her own appearance. What’s left of it, anyway. She’s pretty sure she looks like death. She certainly feels like it. 

 

At least she’s wearing pants. 

 

“So,” she says when it becomes clear Lexa’s not going to speak. “Can I help you?” 

 

“Definitely,” Lexa’s reply is immediate, and it’s heavy with agitated sarcasm. “You could start with picking up the phone when people call you. That’s kind of why you have it, in case you’ve forgotten.” 

 

Clarke blinks. “You -- you called me?” She tries to remember if she’s heard anything, but, unsurprisingly, she draws a blank. “I just… Why?” 

 

“Why.” Lexa’s eyes are vibrant with barely concealed anger. She looks like she’s about to snap, but then, her hand flies up to her face, tiredly rubbing it as she sighs. “You showed up at my door, drunk and clearly upset, and then, after I told you to wait while I called you a cab, you disappeared into the night. Still drunk and clearly upset. Then, you weren’t picking up your phone. What was I supposed to think, Clarke?” She briefly closes her eyes as she pinches the bridge of her nose before reopening them and looking at her again. “What was I supposed to do?” 

 

_ ‘What was I supposed to do?’ _

 

The words echo in her brain as she struggles to process them - mostly due to sheer disbelief.  _ ‘What was I supposed to do?’  _ Anything but running after her in the middle of the night. Because -- she left  _ Kate _ to make sure she’s okay, and that means  _ something, _ but two hours ago, that  _ something _ was being burned and thrown away, unwanted and unneeded and-- 

 

“You worried about me.” It’s a statement of sheer disbelief, and Lexa swallows at that, even as her eyebrows raise. Hesitation is visible on her face as she clearly contemplates what to say. It’s replaced by determination when she speaks. 

 

“It was reckless and irresponsible, Clarke. Anyone would be worried. Do you have any idea what kind of thoughts I had while I drove here?” 

 

_ Anyone would be worried. _ Of course. Clarke doesn’t hold back a bitter smile as she nods to herself. She grabs at the door, just to have something to do; and to have something to lean against as a new wave of nausea hits. It’s not strong, but it’s enough to make her a little dizzy. She should probably lie down. 

 

“Well, I’m not dead,” she says. “Kinda wish I were but that’ll pass after a shower and a burger. I, uh -- thanks for checking up on me. I appreciate it, and I’m sorry I made you drive all the way here.” She wants to add something about  _ Kate,  _ but she can’t think of anything that wouldn't be taken as a snide remark. So, instead, she apologizes once more. “Really. I’m sorry. It… It won’t happen again.” 

 

“I hope so,” Lexa says, clenching her jaw. Right. 

 

“Don’t worry. It won’t.” She watches as Lexa licks her lips, looking like she wants to reply but then thinking better of it. Heavy silence settles over them, and Clarke finds herself wondering, with a surprising calmness, if this is truly the last time they see each other. Two hours ago, she was sure of it. 

 

She doesn’t know how long they would’ve stood there, their gazes boring into each other, if it weren’t for Raven who chooses this exact moment to crawl out of Clarke’s room, shirt askew and pants gone as she makes her way to the bathroom. From the doorway, she’s easily visible, and Clarke feels her stomach fill up with dread as she watches slow understanding spread over Lexa’s features. 

 

“No,” she says quickly, before Lexa has a chance to say anything. “Lexa, this isn’t -- she’s my best friend, I swear, we’re not--” 

 

Something crashes in the bathroom, interrupting Clarke, and then, Raven re-emerges after a loud “ _ oh, shit! _ ”, eyes wide. “Shit,” she repeats upon seeing that it is, in fact, Lexa Woods standing at the door and giving her a bewildered glare. “Uh, hey. I’m Raven. Clarke’s friend. Strictly platonic kind that sleeps in separate beds. You -- you must be Lexa?” 

 

“...Yes,” Lexa nods slowly. Her face is still frozen, and her voice is flat. “It’s nice to meet you, Raven.” 

 

Raven looks down at herself and lets out a nervous chuckle before practically jumping into the chair, effectively hiding her pantless self from Lexa. “I bet,” she says. 

 

For a long, astonished second, no one speaks. 

 

“Um… You guys want a cup of coffee?” 

 

Lexa blinks, seemingly shaking herself out of mild stupor. “No,” she replies to Raven, and it’s cold. “No, thank you, though. I should get going. It’s late.” 

  
Raven’s clearly itching to ask what she was doing here in the first place, but thankfully, she manages to remain silent, only nodding. 

 

Lexa continues. “I really do hope this won’t happen again,” she says, addressing Clarke, and Clarke sees - can practically  _ feel _ \- her shut down, just like that, and for a split second, she wants to drag her inside the apartment and show every little piece of evidence that Raven and her are really just friends and nothing’s ever happened between them and nothing ever will. 

 

But green eyes are dull and cold, and she knows it’ll be no good. Not right now. 

 

She stomps on a desperate plea that’s trying to claw its way out of her chest and nods. “Like I said. Don’t worry. It won’t.” 

 

“Goodnight, Clarke. Raven.” One last look, and she’s gone. 

 

// 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Raven says again as she pours Clarke more coffee the next morning. 

 

She slowly chews before swallowing and sighing. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” 

 

“Still.” Her friend seems genuinely upset with how poorly last night went. “I should’ve said something, or done something more.” 

 

“It’s not your fault,” Clarke repeats. “I’m the one she doesn’t trust. I mean, what would  _ you _ think if your lying ex had a half-naked girl in their apartment?” 

 

Raven groans and drops her head in her hands. “Should’ve stayed in your room,” she mumbles. 

 

“And peed in my bed? I don’t think so.” Clarke’s trying to sound much more cheerful than she feels. 

 

“Honestly, I think that would’ve been a better option.” Her friend mutters before lifting her head with another groan, this one brought forth by the hangover the two of them are experiencing. She studies Clarke, and Clarke pretends not to notice, because she can sense the shift in the air and she doesn’t want to discuss what Raven’s about to bring up. She figures if she doesn’t look at her, she won’t say anything, and she’ll be able to have her breakfast in peace and crawl back into bed. 

 

Like most of her plans, it falls through. “She came here because of you.” Raven’s careful stare is on her as she speaks. 

 

Clarke clings to her strategy, only giving a noncommittal grunt in response. 

 

Raven tries again. “Which means she was worried about you.” When Clarke keeps silent, she doesn’t relent. “Which means she cares. You do realize that, right?” 

 

Ignoring a question would be rude, so she has no choice but to reply. “I was drunk and unstable. Anyone would be worried.” 

 

Raven snorts. “Not to the point of driving around town at night.” 

 

“It’s Lexa. She’s -- she generally cares a lot.” When Raven opens her mouth to argue, Clarke beats her to it. “It’s not about whether or not she has feelings for me, Rae. I know she does.” 

 

The sigh she gets in reply is pure exasperation. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter.” 

 

“It doesn’t. Sometimes, it’s not enough, okay?” She tiredly exhales when she sees the look on Raven’s face. “Look, can you just drop it? At least for now. I promise you I’m okay. Well. I feel like shit thanks to that bottle of yours, but I’ll be okay after I sleep it off.” 

 

If Raven has any objections, she doesn’t voice them. 

 

// 

 

It gets worse after she sleeps it off. Because with the hangover gone, she doesn’t have anything to distract her from thoughts and memories and constant rehashing she’s doing over and over again. 

 

Lexa worried about her. Lexa drove to see her. Lexa thinks she’s sleeping with someone else. 

 

Lexa might not want to see her ever again, but she simply can’t let her think she’s not the only one. Which doesn’t make much sense since she’s probably been thinking that ever since the truth came out, but -- she just needs her to know she hasn’t been with anyone but her for almost a year now. 

 

She hopes Lexa hasn’t blocked her number again when she sends her the text. 

 

_Clarke: Thank you again for making sure I was okay. And I swear Raven is just a friend. I don’t know how to prove it, but it’s true._

 

Her thumb hovers only for a second, and then she presses send, heart beating faster when Lexa reads the text almost immediately. And starts to type a reply that comes a full minute later. 

 

_ Lexa: You don’t have to prove anything. It’s none of my business.  _

_ Clarke wants to scream.  But it is. It’s no one’s business but yours. _

_ Clarke: I haven’t been with anyone but you since December.  _

 

She can’t believe she sent it. She actually fucking sent it. She typed it up with her own fingers and she sent it and what the fuck was she thinking? 

 

_Lexa: December._

 

They met when October was ending. Nausea is back as the reality washes over her once more. 

 

She’s just confirmed she cheated on her. 

 

_Lexa: Like I said, this is none of my business anymore. I’m not sure if it ever was._

 

She’s taken aback by her candor, however bitter it might seem, but this gives her an opening, and -- and honestly, she doesn’t have much to lose anymore, so she uses it. 

 

And, because she doesn’t have much to lose anymore, she decides to finally go all in. How much worse can it really get? Lexa already knows she’s a cheating liar, and she thinks she continues to sleep behind her back. And, however selfish it might be, Clarke just wants to tell her everything whether she believes her or not. At least it’ll be out in the open. 

 

_ Clarke: It was and it is. I’ve never slept with Raven and I never will. I doubt I’ll sleep with anyone else any time soon.  _

 

_Lexa: Well, it is advised that you stay sober for that, so maybe you do need to hold off sleeping with anyone._

 

She can’t help a small frown as she reads through the text. It’s -- mean. So unlike Lexa. 

 

_Lexa: that was out of line. I apologize. It doesn’t concern me._

 

Perhaps, she’s not over Clarke’s stunt from last night. 

 

_ Clarke: it concerns you if you want it to.  _

 

She’s amazed and slightly terrified at how bold she’s gotten. Lexa doesn’t answer for several long minutes, and Clarke’s shoulders slump as she imagines her finally blocking her number when there’s a new text from her. 

 

_ Lexa: It’s not exactly something to discuss in texts, don’t you think?  _

 

Her heart leaps into her throat. Is this a hint? 

 

_Clarke: This is the only thing I was brave enough for._

_Clarke: I also thought you didn’t want to see me, but I agree. It’s not something to talk about here._

_Clarke: But it is something to talk about. At least to me. Is it to you?_

 

She’s gone insane. That’s it. Or she must’ve tripped last night and hit her head. 

 

_Lexa: I don’t know._

 

_ Clarke: If you do, or when you do, or whenever you want to find out, I’ll be there.  _

 

Lexa reads it. And doesn’t answer. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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_ You know, there are days where I think I’m getting somewhere. I focus on my dad and my mom and school. I feel okay. Nowhere near getting over you, but - okay. And then there are days like this where I just… Where I just want you. Here. With me. Today is definitely one of these days, Lexa. When it feels like I can’t breathe because I miss you so much.  _

 

_ All I can think of is - what if? What if we met under different circumstances? Do you think about that, too? What if Finn never suggested anything and we broke up - because now that I think about it, it was bound to happen with or without you in the picture. I was falling out of love with him. Long before my dad’s incident.  _

 

_ What if I ended up in that coffee shop by pure chance? I would’ve looked differently. Would you have still come to me? I think yes. We would’ve talked just like we had. And you would’ve taken me home and let me keep your coat. And maybe it would’ve taken me much longer to accept the fact that I was falling in love with a woman, but at least it would have been… real. For you. And for me too, in a way.  _

 

_ Or… If only I got to you before Anya did. If only I hadn’t decided to be selfish and keep you to myself for a little longer - if only I came clean the morning after I made love to you. I know I would’ve broken your heart either way, but at least you would’ve heard it from me. Everything. No assumptions, no half-truths.  _

 

_ I never wished for a time machine more. Sometimes, when missing you gets too hard, and your scent is no longer lingering on my sheets, on my clothes, I dream of impossible things. I imagine going back and telling you everything; after our first night, after our first meeting, after our first date. God, if I could go back, the first thing I’d do would be kissing you. And then telling you everything.  _

 

_ But I can’t go back. i don’t get to start over. But I hope some other version of me does. Somewhere in another life, another world, I hope we’re happy. I hope that there is a world where I haven’t hurt you. Where we keep each other safe and loved.  _

 

_ And maybe, in this one, someday we’ll get a happy ending, too. I can only hope. It’s the only thing I have left.  _

 

_ I love you, Lexa.  _

 

_ Clarke.  _

 

//

 

A pattern is forming, and Clarke is not sure she likes it. She doesn’t know what would be a better description: push and pull, tug-o-war, or those damn swings, but either way, this is the furthest thing from healing. But they already established that. 

 

In short, Lexa comes to her drunk out of her mind. At least, Clarke hopes the only thing she’s had is alcohol. 

 

In short, Lexa comes to her drunk. In  _ long _ , Lexa’s disappeared for more than a week after Clarke texted her. Went as far as blocking her number - again. And -- Clarke hasn’t made the same mistake of coming over to her apartment unannounced, but she’s pretty sure Kate’s been there more times than her. 

 

(Okay, so maybe she went there once. She never made it to the door - wasn’t brave enough for that - but she did meet Lexa’s neighbour again. The big gentleman with the small dog and a cozy plaid scarf, who cheerfully asked her if she was looking for her sister. 

 

_ Sister _ . That’s how alike they looked, apparently, and the thought, for some reason, makes Clarke sick to her stomach.

 

He helpfully let her know that she -  _ Kate _ ,  _ sister -  _ and Lexa went out somewhere, but looked like they might be back soon. She left immediately after that.) 

 

It appeared as though Lexa’s decided to sever all ties, after all, and Clarke’s been trying to make her peace with that. Slowly. Painfully. And unsuccessfully. Mainly because Lexa herself is standing at her doorstep, eyes bloodshot and reeking of expensive scotch. Yes, expensive scotch reeks, too, when you consume it in unhealthy amounts. 

 

Judging by Lexa’s wild mane and skewed clothes, she’s been doing exactly that. Clarke’s heart squeezes in her chest, sharply, when she thinks what could’ve happened to her on her way there. She knows Lexa would never drive after drinking. She also knows Gustus would never drive her anywhere in such a state. So she must’ve walked. 

 

Plus, she’s soaked to the bone. 

 

What was it Lexa yelled at her for the last time they saw each other? ‘ _ Drunk and clearly upset. Walking alone at night.’ _

 

_ Hypocrite,  _ Clarke fumes at her silently and opens the door wider so she can stumble in. And stumble in she does. 

 

“Hey.” Her lips are dry and chapped on Clarke’s, and they taste like whiskey. Or scotch. Or bourbon. Honestly, Clarke could never tell the difference. She does know that Lexa tastes like alcohol and sorrow, and her heart sinks in reply, beats sharp and desperate. 

 

She pushes her away - gently, keeping her hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Hey. Hey. You’re drunk.” 

 

“That’s the fucking point,” Lexa lets her know, before cupping her cheeks in her hands and leaning in again. Come to think about it - she’s never seen her this drunk. She’s never seen her drunk, period. She’s never seen her lose control like this. 

 

(Except -- but she didn’t lose it then. She willingly gave it up.) 

 

“Lexa,” she tries again, pulling away. “No, Lexa, you need to stop.” She’s hot to the touch. Almost feverish, and her forehead is covered in a thin film of sweat. It could be alcohol. But it could be a cold, too. She doesn’t know where Lexa walked from. How much time she spent outside, in the rain. Her shirt is practically drenched.

 

Clarke tries to ignore the way her hands tremble when she touches her cheek. Lexa’s -- Lexa’s never sick. 

 

Lexa’s staggered away from her as soon as she told her to stop, and her speech is slurred. “Don’t you -- want this? Me?” She swallows, and if it weren’t for Clarke rushing to her and catching her around her torso, she would’ve slid down against the door. “Is this not what you wanted?” 

 

Her eyes sting and burn. “No,” she chokes out, trying to help Lexa stand upright. It’s not an easy task. Lexa’s all lean muscle, and she weighs more than she looks. “No. It’s not.” 

 

She’d like to say that none of this is what she wanted, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it be? She did want to save her father. She did save her father. No matter what she says, in the end, she had a goal and she reached it. And that’s the problem. 

 

Why would Lexa believe her when to her, she did get everything she aimed for? 

 

“Wait,” Lexa mumbles when Clarke tries to lead her to the couch. “Shoes. Muddy. It’s -- rain. It’s raining.” 

 

“I gathered,” Clarke tells her, helping her tug her shoes off. Just like she suspects, her socks are wet, too, and that’s bad. She needs to get her into something dry and under warm blankets. 

 

Lexa barks out a sloppy laugh. “Funny,” she notes. “Deadpan. I like deadpan. It’s -- it’s funny.” 

 

“Thanks,” she says, because what else is there to say? At least Lexa’s started to cooperate and she’s not a deadweight on Clarke’s shoulders anymore. She’s dragging her feet as they go, and when they do get to the couch, she plops down on it with a groan, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. 

 

“Your room is spinning,” she tells Clarke in a low voice. Well, shit. Although, on the other hand, she might feel better in the morning if she throws up now. Clarke’s eyes flicker between Lexa and her bathroom door. Too far. 

 

“I’m not gonna be sick.” She looks at Lexa again upon hearing her speak. Green eyes watch her, bright to the point of feverish. “Don’t worry. i just - I think I need some water.” 

 

“Right -- of course. Water. Be right back.” She hurries to the kitchen, fishing out a glass. 

 

“Thanks,” Lexa says when she returns, the glass cold and full in her hand. She watches as Lexa gulps it down, quickly and greedily. Her throat bobs prettily, but then again, is there anything about Lexa that’s not infuriatingly pretty? 

 

She shakes her head. Definitely not the right time. “Lexa,” she says, gingerly sitting down next to her on the couch and taking the glass from her when she’s finished. “What happened?”  _ Why are you here? _

 

_ Well, it’s kind of blatantly obvious why she’s here, isn’t it? _ Clarke asks herself darkly. 

 

Lexa seems to think along these lines, as well. She opens one eye and squints at Clarke, curiously. “What happened? I’m drunk. Because I got drunk.” 

 

“Yes, but -- you don’t get drunk,” Clarke says. “Why… why did you?” 

 

Lexa snorts in dark amusement. The sound is so unlike her. Then again, this whole situation is unlike Lexa. “Why did I get drunk. Huh. Well, why am I here?” It seems that even drunk, Lexa still has the ability to speak in cryptic riddles. 

 

Except they aren’t all that cryptic.  _ You, _ Lexa’s glistening eyes tell her.  _ You’re the reason for this. All of this. _

 

But Lexa’s not done. She’s licking her lips a lot as she speaks, and her words are still a little slurred. “You know, I’ll tell you why I’m here. It’s because I want you. I still want you, Clarke.” She swallows before looking at her, and there’s the quiet kind of desperation in her gaze that makes Clarke’s chest ache. “Why do I still want you, Clarke?” 

 

Well. She certainly wasn’t prepared to have Lexa be this open right from the start. Clarke’s not the only one who shouldn’t drink a lot if she wants to keep a secret. That’s when the reality of the situation hits her. Lexa’s drunk. Lexa wants to spill the beans that she’d rather keep to herself sober, and Clarke -- Clarke can’t let her do that. She can’t take advantage of her like this. 

 

“Lex,” she says just as the other woman opens her mouth to, no doubt, say more things she doesn’t want Clarke to hear. “It’s late. We should get you into bed.” 

 

Lexa’s grin would be amusing if it didn’t cut so deep. “Oh, so that’s still on the table. Nice.” 

 

“No. You need to sleep it off.” 

 

“I’m not that drunk.” 

 

Clarke gives her a pointed look. “You are definitely that drunk.” When Lexa only glares back, she sighs, standing up and offering her a hand. She really hopes Lexa comes willingly, because if not, she doubts she’ll be able to drag her there. “Come on. Please, Lex.” 

 

“Don’t.” Green eyes become focused for a split second. Sober and sharp. “Don’t do this.” When Clarke blinks at her, confused, she shakes her head, slowly, sloppily. “Don’t assume I’ll go just because it’s you who asked me to.” 

 

It’s hard to speak when all air seemingly left her lungs, but she powers through. “I don’t,” she says huskily. “I don’t think that for a second, Lexa. But you know I’m right. You need to sleep.” 

 

“Couch is fine,” Lexa mumbles to her, childishly crossing her arms and staring down at her damp socks. She’s - in some other world, she’d think Lexa looks entirely too adorable to handle. But the woman she loves is cut open and left to bleed out before her eyes, small and vulnerable and lost. And that’s the exact opposite of what Clarke deems adorable. 

 

“You’ll take the bed. It’s not optional.” 

 

Lexa appears to contemplate her words as she lifts her head and studies Clarke, head cocked to the side. She looks like a puppy that way, and Clarke tramples on a resurfaced feeling of tenderness.  _ Not the time. _ “Fine,” Lexa says, finally, still staring at her. “But you wanted to know what happened.” 

 

_ Yes, but I want you to want to tell me. _ “Not tonight, Lexa.” 

 

Lexa laughs again, and the sound is scary because it’s sad. “Funny. Okay. Not tonight. That’s what I was thinking, you know? Earlier. Not tonight. At least not tonight. One night without you. I guess I was thinking about it too hard. You know how -- when someone tells you not to think about it, and it becomes the only thing you  _ can _ think about?” She stops, clearly waiting for an indication that Clarke is listening, and she can’t help but nod. It feels so slow. It’s as if she’s watching everything unfold from the sidelines, out of her body. They are on a brink of something here. Something important. Something that she doesn’t think Lexa should be telling her, but she’s frozen all of a sudden, and the protest dies down in her throat while her heart is trying to burst out of her chest. 

 

Lexa smirks at Clarke’s nod. “Yeah. I think I did that to myself. Don’t think about her - and now she’s the only thing I can think about. Yes. That’s what happened. That’s what always happens. I just took it further tonight.” She’s no longer looking at Clarke. Judging by her empty stare, she’s not looking at anything at all. Clarke’s not sure if Lexa’s still aware of the fact that she’s standing next to her. “I didn’t want to want you. I wanted to want her. She’s -- she’s nice. She’s good. She could be mine. I could be hers. I think -- I thought I wanted her, but I was wrong. I didn’t mean for her to find out like this, you know? I didn’t… I wanted you. So I called for you. But I was with her. I shouldn’t have -- I shouldn’t.” 

 

The realization punches right through her chest, tearing her heart out with an iron fist and dropping it onto the floor, and Clarke has to sit down again as everything rips through her at once. The pain, sharp to the point of being unbearable at hearing Lexa imply she’s had sex with Kate. Was having sex with Kate - or, perhaps, it wasn’t even Kate but yet another girl - when she-- 

 

_ I wanted you, so I called for you. _

 

She imagines Lexa kissing someone else’s lips and touch someone else’s cheek and mumble  _ her name _ into someone else’s neck. Imagining she was  _ her. _

 

_ I wanted you, so I called for you. _

 

Lexa panting a hoarse  _ Clarke _ into the darkness of her room while under someone else’s body. Or was it Lexa screaming  _ Clarke _ with someone else’s head between her legs? Whimpering  _ Clarke _ while buried in someone else, knuckles deep? 

 

The thought is nauseating, and her head pounds with the newfound knowledge. 

 

She should’ve stopped Lexa when she could. Why didn’t she stop her? 

 

“How do I stop thinking about you?” Lexa’s voice tears her out of her thoughts, and she focuses her astonished gaze on her. She’s still not looking at Clarke. She’s staring into the distance, and her expression is lost. The next words are whispered, but to Clarke, they are so, so loud, taking up all of the space. “How do I stop loving you?” 

 

It hurts. It hurts so much, because, while Clarke is desperate to hold on to the feeling even if it’s killing her, Lexa looks like she wants nothing more than to be rid of it. To be free. From her. “I don’t know,” she tells her in a broken whisper. 

 

Lexa blinks, as if waking up from slumber, and turns her head to look at Clarke. Her eyes are hazy again. “Maybe,” she says, pensive. “Maybe I’d already stop if I wanted to.” She doesn’t say anything after that. She rises to her feet and stumbles to Clarke’s room, and Clarke’s at her side in an instant, guiding her. 

 

_ Tomorrow, _ she thinks as she helps Lexa get out of her drenched clothes and put Clarke’s pajamas on.  _ We’ll deal with it tomorrow. _

 

She takes the couch, and sleep doesn’t come that night as she lays there, staring at the ceiling and listening to Lexa’s soft snores. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Chapter 8

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Clarke gets up somewhere around eight. The sun is already shining, painting her living room with soft yellow hues. It’s partially the reason she’s holding onto this apartment, trampling on her pride and letting her mother pay for it. In the morning, it’s breathtaking if the weather is right. 

 

Also, the image of Lexa standing at the window, barefoot and soft and bathed in light is forever etched in here, and she doesn’t want to forget. 

 

She didn’t think she’d get to see that again, but here they are. Lexa, barefoot and dressed in Clarke’s soft sweatpants and a white crewneck, standing before her in her morning. Except this time, she’s wincing at the light and struggling to keep her eyes open as she’s stumbling her way out of Clarke’s room. Where Clarke did not spend the night. 

 

Yeah, she definitely didn’t think she’d get to see Lexa undressed in her apartment under these circumstances.

 

“Hey,” she says cautiously, clutching her mug and leaning against the counter. 

 

Lexa winces even more, and somehow Clarke has a feeling it has nothing to do with her, undoubtedly, monster hangover. “... Hey.” They stand there, Lexa in the middle of her living room and Clarke in the kitchen, staring at each other. She watches her rub her temples before heaving a tired sigh and speaking again. “I -- well, since you clearly saw me last night, you won’t find it all that surprising, but I don’t remember how I got here.” It proves to be too many words for her, and Clarke watches as she winces again and swallows with some visible difficulty. 

 

Her throat must be killing her. “I left you a glass of water, did you drink it?” 

 

Lexa tries to nod. “Yes. Advil, too. Thank you.” 

 

“Here.” Clarke pushes herself off the counter and springs into action, fishing out another bottle from the fridge and pouring it in a glass. “You should drink more.” 

 

“Precisely what I’ve been telling myself last night,” Lexa mutters, but takes the glass with a grateful nod, immediately downing it. “Do you have coffee?” 

 

Clarke shakes her head. “Coffee will make you feel worse. You should go lie down again. You, uh,” she hesitates for only a second before continuing. “You can spend the day here. If you want. It’ll be better for you. If you can’t remember the last hour, you must’ve had a lot to drink, so resting will do you some good.” 

 

And here it is. She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember, and Clarke is faced with yet another inner struggle as she tries to figure out what to do. 

 

She doesn’t remember telling Clarke about the reason for being this wasted. Perhaps, it’s for the best. Saves her the possible humiliation; although Clarke’s not sure if Lexa would be humiliated by her admission last night. Upset, definitely. And she doesn’t want to make Lexa upset. But if there’s anything Clarke’s learned, it’s that honesty is the best policy, and hiding things from Lexa never led to anything good for her. For both of them. 

 

It’s not even a struggle, really. Lexa has a right to know. 

 

Lexa’s expression is unsure and apologetic. And, of course, still pained - a hangover like that doesn’t go away in a matter of minutes. “I don’t think I can accept that,” she tells Clarke. “And I… I’m sorry for barging in like that.” 

 

Clarke’s heart starts to pound in her chest. “So you do remember?” 

 

“Oh, no,” Lexa shakes her head and cringes at the pain it brings. “Ouch. No, I don’t, but judging by my headache, I don’t doubt for a second that I lost some of my motor skills. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me I crashed into your door and fell when you opened it.” 

 

That’s kind of what happened. “That’s not how it happened. Don’t worry.” 

 

God, when will she stop lying? 

 

Clarke takes a deep breath. “But, um… Something did happen.” 

 

At that, Lexa’s gaze becomes sharp, guarded. “I kind of figured. Seeing as I woke up in your bed.” The phrase - the tone, too - cuts to the bone, and Clarke blinks, cursing herself when she feels her eyes start to burn with unwanted tears.  _ So that’s what she thinks about me? _

 

_ Is that really that big of a stretch? _

 

“You figured wrong,” she tells Lexa, and her voice is flat. “I slept on the couch.” 

 

They had their fair share of tense pauses, but this one, by far, takes the cake. At least that’s what Clarke thinks. Lexa’s green eyes widen for a fraction of a second with surprise and guilt before the headache forces them to narrow again. “Oh. I assumed... well,” she swallows again. “What happened? You were saying that something did happen. Did I -- oh,” her eyes grow big again. “Clarke, did I -- did I force m--” 

 

“ _ No, _ ” she interrupts, voice strong and sure. “You didn’t. Lexa, you  _ wouldn’t _ .” 

 

Lexa’s sudden smile is small and sad. “I assumed you took advantage of me. It’s only fair I apply that to myself.” 

 

_ But I did. Just not tonight. _

 

When Lexa looks away immediately after saying that, Clarke knows she’s thinking about the same thing. Isn’t that why she jumped to conclusions in the first place? 

 

The silence grows, threatening to swallow them whole, and she can’t take it anymore. “You told me the reason you were drunk.” Quick. Like a bandaid. Rip it off. “Because you were with… someone and you said -- something you think you shouldn’t have.” 

 

Lexa’s laughter is quiet and bitter, and Clarke is taken aback by the sound. But it’s the wry, humorless smirk on her face that makes her shiver. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. Great.” She scoffs and walks over to the couch, settling into it with weary heaviness. Clarke isn’t sure if she’s welcomed here, but she wants to see her face, and so she comes up to it as well, sitting down on the other end. “Something I  _ think _ I shouldn’t have,” Lexa muses, repeating Clarke’s words. A look she shoots her next is sharp and gauging. “So you don’t think I said something I shouldn’t have?” 

 

Anger. Clarke recognizes it immediately, because lately she’s been getting to know that side of Lexa rather intimately. There’s muted anger is buzzing underneath Lexa’s faux calm surface, and she’s not sure what it’s aimed at. She does know she’s close to getting whiplash from Lexa’s mood swings. Is it because of last night’s heavy drinking, or is it something that’s developed recently? 

 

It’s awful that she hopes for the first one. “I didn’t say that.” 

 

“Didn’t you imply that?” 

 

Well, since she chose the honesty route, she should stick with it. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I think.” It’s the most truthful answer she can give her. Even after the whole night of tossing and turning and going over it for hours, she still doesn’t know what to think. All she knows is that there are no positive feelings about this situations. Lexa’s breaking before her eyes, and she can’t do anything about it because she’s the fucking reason for that. 

 

Lexa scoffs and rolls her head back, staring at the ceiling, much like Clarke’s been doing at night. “It’s only natural to be proud,” she offers with a small shrug, not looking at Clarke. “It’s a victory, in a sense.” 

 

Every time she thinks it can’t possibly hurt more, Lexa proves her wrong. “There’s nothing to be proud of,” she says. 

 

“Isn’t there?” Lexa’s eyes are still looking up. To anyone else, she’d appear to be the epitome of relaxed as she lounges on the couch, hands on her lap and legs stretched. But Clarke’s not anyone else. And she knows Lexa’s in a full on flight or fight mode. It’s apparent in the way her jaw clenches and her muscles twitch under skin. She’s just not sure which one she’ll pick today. “Isn’t there something to be proud of? To know you’re so far under my skin I can’t shake you when I’m with the others? Perhaps, pride isn’t the right word, then. Isn’t there something about it that strokes your ego just right?” 

 

She doesn’t -- the thing she was terrified of is happening. Right now, in this moment, she doesn’t recognize Lexa. 

 

How did it come from a peaceful, awkward morning to this? “No, Lexa,” she says, and her voice is just a touch too heated. “Nothing about you sleeping with other women strokes my ego.” God - but it’s not  _ about _ that. She’s letting her pride speak for her, however ironic that is. “That’s not... “ She sighs, trailing off. 

 

“I’d be proud, I think.” Lexa’s voice is low. “If you were thinking about me while fucking your boyfriend.” 

 

She should just keep her mouth shut. Not say anything and let Lexa pour everything out. But that’s never been her strong suit. “Ex. And I was.” When Lexa grows quiet and still, she continues. “I was thinking about you.” 

 

She wishes she could peek inside Lexa’s mind. Just for a second. Just so she could know… Just for a second. Because her face is impassive and she’s still not looking her in the eye, and she doesn’t understand what’s going on in her head. 

 

Lexa unfreezes slowly. Gradually. Clarke watches, with baited breath, as her fists clench and unclench before she relaxes and practically melts back into the couch. A quiet, dry chuckle cuts through yet another tense pause. “I think I see your point.” Green eyes find hers, finally, and Clarke lets out a shuddering sigh at the intensity she finds there. “It doesn’t make it better. Even if it’s true.” 

 

And, really, what was she thinking when she told Lexa that? Did she hope that she’d be - what, touched? Happy? Whisk her away into the sunset and live happily ever after with her because of that admission? 

 

“It is. And it doesn’t.” She schools her features into a neutral mask, because she’s afraid that if she doesn’t, she’ll start crying and she’s so tired of crying. “You really should lie down and get some sleep.” 

 

Lexa seems more than fine with the drastic change of topic. “Don’t you have plans today?” 

 

“I need to study. I can do that with you in the other room.” She can’t, not really, but she doesn’t want to let Lexa go yet. 

 

Isn’t that the whole problem? 

 

“I really don’t want to intrude, but I’ve never felt worse in my life,” Lexa admits. She’s trying to keep it light. Clarke pretends she succeeds. 

 

“Understandable.” She’s trying to keep it light, too. 

 

What are they doing? 

 

// 

 

It’s funny, Clarke thinks - how much fate loves twisted repetition. 

 

Her mom calls her while she’s trying to figure out why did she ever think becoming a doctor would be a good idea, and at first, she’s thankful for a distraction. With exams coming up and with Lexa slumbering in the other room, her concentration is mostly out the window anyway. “Hey, mom.” 

 

“Clarke.” The desperate urgency in her mother’s voice makes her jump to her feet, sending the book on her lap to the floor. “You need to come to the hospital.” 

 

Dread is filling her stomach as she clutches the phone to her ear. “Mom? What is it? What happened?”

 

She thinks she hears a choked sob, and her blood runs cold. “It’s Jake. He -- he’s been having trouble walking up and down the stairs, and -- I told him not to go out without me. I told him.” Her mom is nearing hysteria. Clarke feels like she’s suffocating. 

 

“I’m coming,” she tells her, trying to ignore her trembling hands as she tugs her snickers on. “He’s gonna be okay, mom. It’s going to be okay.” 

 

“He slipped back into coma.” This time, there’s no mistaking the tears in her mom’s voice. “I don’t -- I don’t know what to do.” 

 

“it’s okay.” Her heart is painfully missing a beat. Once. Twice. It’s hard to talk with this huge lump in her throat. “I’m coming, mom. I’ll be there soon.” 

 

She’s almost out the door when Lexa’s voice stops her. “Clarke?” Their gazes meet when she turns around, and watching Lexa’s eyes widen with concern would be heartwarming if she weren’t too busy trying not to let a panic attack take over. Lexa’s gaze changes from sleepy to alert within seconds. “What’s going on?” 

 

Christmas. It’s Christmas again and the snowflakes are landing on the glass of her window and Lexa’s watching her with love and worry. Her dad is awake and alive and she has to get to the hospital to see him and hold him and -- 

 

The reality is crushing. “It’s my dad,” she says, surprised at how even the words sound. “He’s relapsed.” 

 

Lexa reacts with a determined frown and a lightning speed with which she ducks back into the room, calling Gustus and looking for her clothes. 

 

// 

 

They have to walk in the end. Gustus is on the other side of town and a cab would take too long anyway. Lexa’s effortlessly keeping up with Clarke’s pace as they almost job side by side, in silence. 

 

_ He’s been having trouble walking up and down the stairs, _ her mother’s words echo in her head.  _ I told him not to go out without me. I told him _ . He must’ve feel. Must’ve hit his head - and, given his history, it’s not surprising he shut down. 

 

_ No, _ Clarke tells herself and walks faster. 

 

Abigail Griffin is in the waiting room when they storm inside, and if she’s taken aback by their pairing, she doesn’t show it. “Mom,” Clarke breathes out, running up to her. Abby’s embrace is tight and scared. “What happened? Where is he?” 

 

“We can’t go in yet,” she tells Clarke. “He -- he fell and… It’s not a bad fall, but because he’s still recovering --” 

 

“I know,” Clarke says when her mom can’t continue. She shushes her, soothingly, as she dissolves into sobs, and guides them to the chairs. “Mom, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” She’s not sure she believes her own words - but she has to. 

 

Her eyes catch Lexa’s over her mother’s shoulder. She looks worried. Unsure. Uneasy. When she realizes Clarke’s looking at her, she speaks, in a soft voice. “I’ll go talk some things over with Bob. I’ll be right back.” 

 

Bob. Robert Jenkins, chief of medicine - why would Lexa need to talk to him? 

 

Clarke’s talking before she can fully process everything. “Lexa. You don’t have to do anything.” 

 

The muscles of Lexa’s jaw twitch as she swallows. She’s still wearing her frown. “I have to do  _ something. _ ” She doesn’t let Clarke argue further as she simply walks off. 

 

It might be an awful, awful thought, but Clarke is a tiny bit relieved her mother isn’t going to ask any questions right now. 

 

// 

 

_ He’s stable  _ is all they get after two hours of waiting. Might not seem as much, perhaps, but for the first time since getting the call from her mother, Clarke feels like she can finally breathe. 

 

They are allowed to see him, but she doesn’t think she can do it right this moment. It’s too -- draining and overwhelming and  _ too fucking much _ to see him on that hospital bed in that room again. Like nothing’s changed. Like they are doomed to be stuck in this never-ending loop. 

 

It all started with her father in here. 

 

“I’ll go get coffee, mom,” she mumbles as she gets up and walks away without waiting for her mother to reply.  _ This hospital, _ she thinks with sudden contempt.  _ These walls and this hallway and that coffee machine and -- Lexa? _

 

It only now occurs to her that she hasn’t seen Lexa after she left to talk to the chief of medicine, but it’s not whom she finds her with. Standing next to her is Anya, and she looks pissed. 

 

Clarke slows down her step, wondering if she should simply turn around like she never was here when Anya speaks, her voice low and harsh. “You completely lose the ability to think rationally when that girl is involved. Lexa I know wouldn’t--” 

 

“People change,” Lexa interrupts. Unlike Anya, her voice is even. Calm to the point of being eerie, and there’s something else swimming underneath, in that small phrase. 

 

_ People change. _

 

Clarke scolds herself for the surge of hope in her heart and almost misses Anya’s next words. “So you admit you wouldn’t do it if it weren’t for her?” 

 

Lexa’s sigh is small and tired. Clarke can’t see from her spot, but she’s willing to bet the tendon in her neck has tensed up. “I merely suggested we move him into another room, Anya. It’s not a big deal.” 

 

“You’re playing favorites.” Anya’s voice is practically ice. “That’s a big deal.” 

 

The rush of blood in her ears is the distraction she needs to make her presence known. She shouldn’t be listening to this. If Lexa thinks she should know about anything, she’ll tell her. And now, she really needs coffee after this. She’d take whiskey over it if she was being honest, but, sadly, right now the only shots at her disposal are the espresso ones. “Uh, hey.” 

 

She’s come to truly admire the speed with which both Anya and Lexa slip their stoic masks on. Especially Anya. With Lexa, she’s able to get a glimpse into her mind through her eyes, if only for a fraction of a second. With Anya -- she doesn’t know her that well, and perhaps that factors in, but to Clarke, she’s barely restrained, simmering rage one second and a smug smirk the next. 

 

“Miss Griffin. I hope you understand when I say I’m not at all happy to see you.” 

 

Clarke catches the biting  _ same _ just before it falls from her lips. “Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere but here.” 

 

Surely, Anya hates her too much for this flash in her eyes to be genuine concern; but it’s gone before Clarke can make up any insane theories. “Right.” 

 

She decides not to get into anything with her right now. She simply doesn’t have the energy for that. Instead, she focuses on Lea who’s looking to the side, idly studying the options the coffee machine presents. “Hey. I thought you left.” 

 

“Did you?” A quick, pensive glance over her shoulder tells Clarke it’s more than a mere attempt at making conversation. 

 

“Not… really,” she admits. “I didn’t -- I was too distracted to think about it.” 

 

Lexa’s nod is appreciative. “Of course.” She turns to face her fully, but she’s still looking to the side. “How is he?” 

 

“He’s stable.” Stable is good. Sometimes, stable is neither good nor bad, but for now, it’s the best thing she can hope for. “Thank you.” When Lexa lifts her eyes to meet hers, there’s surprise in them, so she clarifies. “I overheard you talking about putting him in a better room. I’m sorry. And grateful. But you didn’t have to do that.” 

 

“How sweet.” Anya’s voice - Anya’s whole presence is startling considering she kind of forgot she was still standing right here. It drips with bitter sarcasm, too, and both Lexa and Clarke clear their throats, looking guilty. As if they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

 

“Well. We had a room available, and he’s--” Lexa stumbles with words, cutting herself off. She quickly recovers, however. “I know him. I want to help him get better in any way I can.” 

 

Clarke hates that she’s not able to simply lean in and kiss the crap out of her. Instead, she has to pretend like she’s not trembling inside. “Thank you. Really. So, so much.” 

 

In response, Lexa tilts her head to the side, accepting the gratitude. “There are some matters I have to tend to,” she lets Clarke know, giving Anya an unreadable glance. “I -- I’ll see you around?” 

 

Keep it light. “Yeah,” she nods. “Yeah, sure. Go be the hotshot CEO.” 

 

That’s definitely too domestic. Thankfully, neither Lexa nor Anya choose to comment. “Okay,” Lexa simply says. “Oh, and… Clarke?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

She watches her swallow, tightly, before continuing. “He’ll be okay.” 

 

In this moment -- if it weren’t for Anya, she’d stumble into Lexa’s arms and lose herself in her. Lexa’s eyes, green and bright, tell her she wouldn’t have minded. She hopes it’s not her wistful thinking. “Thank you,” she croaks out. 

 

With one final nod, Lexa’s gone. And Clarke’s left alone with Anya whose smirk is going wry and angry. “So,” she starts, picking up her cup and taking a huge sip. “Back to square one, huh?” 

 

She doesn’t have time for this. “I know you probably have a speech prepared and everything, but I need to get back to my father.” 

 

Anya, however, doesn’t take well to being ignored. Her hand is cold and her grip is steel where she grabs Clarke’s arm, just above the elbow. At least she didn’t wait till Clarke was holding hot coffee. “You know,” she hisses. “I really did think you were a good person under bad circumstances, but you’re hellbent on proving me wrong, aren’t you?” 

 

“What?” She wrestles her arm out of her grasp, because - she might’ve fucked up, yes, but she’s not going to let her manhandle her. “What are you talking about?” 

 

“You slept with her.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Clarke’s heart freezes. “Those are clearly yesterday’s clothes, and you came here together. On a Saturday morning.” 

 

Can she encounter someone dumb for once? “She could’ve been with someone else.” And she was, but she doubts Anya would want to know the details, all things considered. 

 

The woman scoffs. “Your little looks are more telling than you think.” 

 

Clarke thinks she just might bleed from her ears from all the thoughts flashing rapidly through her head as she tries to figure out what to do. Anya’s not going to let her simply walk away, that much is clear. But she can’t let her know the truth. It’s up to Lexa. Not her. 

 

In the end, she settles for the kind of truth that’s only technical. “Okay. Fine. She did spend the night at my place, but we didn’t have sex.” 

 

Anya’s silent for a long moment as she studies her face. “Somehow,” she says then, slowly, “that’s even worse.” 

 

Her mom must be looking for her by now. “It’s not my place to discuss this with you,” she says. And, really, she doesn’t need coffee that bad. She’ll ask someone for water. Or ice chips. “I really need to go.” 

 

“You wanted coffee, didn’t you? Don’t let me stop you.” 

 

“Thanks.” Anya smirks at the barely concealed sarcasm. “I don’t want it anymore, though. Thanks for the talk. Bye.” She’s quick to turn around and start walking away. 

 

“Clarke.” Anya sounds weary, to the point of exhaustion. She doesn’t need to see her eyes to know they’ve grown sunken and dull. “If you care about her. She’s not -- she’s nowhere near stable enough to be getting into anything with you.” 

 

There are so many things she wants to say. From  _ she’s a grown woman _ to a much more honest  _ I know and I’m sorry and I don’t know what to do _ . There’s an insane thought that perhaps she should confide in Anya. Because underneath her anger towards Clarke, there’s the same amount of love for Lexa, and that’s something they can agree on; and maybe, just maybe, Anya will  _ get _ it. 

 

She shakes it off, and she says nothing as she quietly exits the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask me questions on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
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> 


	9. Chapter 9

Her father spends a week in a coma. She’s not saying it’s the worst week of her life, but it’s definitely in the top five. There are always silver linings, though. In the universe’s warped version of irony, last time she had such a terrible week, her silver lining was her father. This time, he’s the culprit; and last time’s cause is the one who’s making it somehow better. 

 

Lexa doesn’t come over anymore, but she’s always at the hospital when Clarke is there. First couple of days, they run into each other by accident - not that it’s all that surprising. The hospital only has one cafeteria, and they come there at lunch. It’s stiff and it’s awkward. 

 

Then, Clarke breaks down and cries into Lexa’s shoulder in the clean hospital bathroom, and after that, there’s nothing but tentative understanding.  _ I’m afraid, _ Clarke’s unsure looks tell Lexa. 

 

_ Don’t be, _ Lexa’s fleeting touch on the back of her hand replies. 

 

She gets a text from her that night.

 

**_Lexa: You must have enough people around you to help you through this._ **

 

She knows Lexa. This isn’t a reproachful statement. This is her trying to tell her she wants to be there for her. 

 

**_Clarke: None of them are who I want._ **

 

**_Lexa: Who do you want?_ **

 

**_Clarke: You._ **

 

Lexa doesn’t answer, but next day, she comes to the hospital, and there’s faint purpose in her eyes when she sees her.

 

It’s limbo all over again, but it’s much more pleasant that the last one they’ve found themselves in. Lexa tells her she’s there to discuss investments with Bob. Clarke pretends she believes her. 

 

Lexa takes her coffee with two sugars. Clarke indirectly scolds her for not sleeping well. 

 

With the uncertainty of Jake’s future looming over them and without Anya’s presence surrounding them with guilt, they are at an impasse, and neither is sure how to get out of it. (Clarke’s not entirely sure she wants to.) 

 

She starts telling Lexa stories about her dad. From her childhood, from her teen years, from several months ago. Lexa listens and listens and listens, and each time they separate, the look in her eyes grows warmer and softer. 

 

_ She’s seeing why I did this, _ Clarke’s hope pounds wildly in her chest.  _ Maybe she’s -- she sees why. It’s not enough, but it’s something. _ It might be foolish, but it’s one of the things that keep her sane. Her school isn’t helping anymore; and her mom needs  _ her _ to be one thing that holds her together. 

 

It’s seven long, draining days. As if knowing exactly what Clarke feels, the sky remains cold and grey, and at night, it rains in time with her tears sliding down her cheeks. 

 

(Lexa’s not there to hold her, but she doesn’t expect her to. She doesn’t expect anything from her, and yet, Lexa gives her so much more.) 

 

But Anya’s words never go away; they stick with her, and they haunt her every second of every day, growing louder whenever they meet. 

 

_ She’s nowhere near stable enough _ . Clarke looks at the bags under Lexa’s eyes that makeup couldn’t conceal, and her grip on her hand grows stronger even though it’s supposed to become weaker. She’s being selfish. She knows that. But she’s growing weaker, too, when she needs to be strong. 

 

Jake wakes up at night, and Lexa isn’t there with them; but it would’ve been silly to expect her to come. 

 

(Clarke still did.) 

 

“Don’t scare us like that again,” she sobs into her father’s chest. “We can’t -- just don’t.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” There’s genuine guilt and worry in his voice, and she presses tighter to him, careful not to yank on any of the tubes attached to his body. He’s still weak. he needs to recover. She’s heard it all before. This time, it’ll take faster, doctors hope. 

 

Her dad’s eyes are alight with determined blue, and she knows he’ll come back to them soon. He made it. Twice. He’ll make it over and over again, if need be. 

 

If he can do that, so can she. 

 

( _ So can them _ , her heart tells her, but she shushes it. Not now. Not yet.) 

 

// 

 

She’s not going to lie - it stings when Lexa gives no acknowledgement about her father’s awakening for two days. But it’s not -- she’s not required to do anything, Clarke reminds herself. After all, they are not anything to each other. She doubts they’ll ever be able to become friends, and now that they are not having sex, even  _ fuck buddies _ is out the window. In the end, they are two acquaintances who share a past. She’s not so sure about the present and the future. 

 

She wishes -- oh, how she hopes, but -- they don’t. At the moment. That’s a fact. 

 

She contemplates texting her herself, if only to thank her, on the way to her father’s room when Lexa emerges out of it, looking -- confused would be the best word to describe her. Pensive. Her eyebrows are drawn together in a thoughtful frown, and she’s biting the inside of her lips - a sign that tells Clarke she’s both unsure and nervous. 

 

Her eyes widen with surprise - and Clarke thinks she catches the flash of panic - when she sees her, but it’s gone in a second. “Clarke,” she nods. “Hello.” 

 

As if they haven’t spend a week worth of lunches together, speaking in hushed voices and careful touches. 

 

Clarke swallows. “Lexa. Hey.” She watches as the woman blinks, as if shaking herself out of stupor. 

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately,” she says, and her voice finally sounds familiar. Not quite like her --  _ her Lexa _ \-- but closer to it. “Work. A lot of it. But -- I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am Jake is okay.” 

 

She notes, with a smile, that she doesn’t stumble before saying her dad’s name. “Thank you.” These two words are so, so fucking small, insignificant compared to the feeling in her chest. “It’s okay, Lexa, you don’t -- I don’t expect you to constantly be in contact with me.” 

 

Lexa’s gaze turns gauging for a second. “Right. Still.” 

 

Her smile grows wider. “Right.” She glances over Lexa’s shoulder, at the door. “How is he?” 

 

“I’m sorry?” 

 

It’s Clarke’s turn to frown in slight confusion. “My dad. You were here to see him?” This is the right room, isn’t it? 

 

“Oh.” Lexa’s face relaxes, barely. “He’s doing well. My meeting with Bob ended earlier, so I decided to check up on him. I hope that’s okay.” 

 

“Lexa.” She barely holds herself back from taking a step forward and taking her hands in her own. Part of the reason she doesn’t is because Lexa looks ready to bolt when she senses Clarke’s about to make the movement. “Of course it’s okay.”

 

Lexa gives her a tense nod.  _ What happened in there? _ Clarke tries to push her sudden panic down. Two of the most caring people she knows - two of her dearest people - were together in one room. There’s no chance anything could’ve gone wrong. 

 

“Well,” she watches as Lexa glances at her wrist to check the time, “I should get back to the office.” 

 

“Right. Of course.” Goodbyes are the most awkward part lately. But there’s something else about Lexa today that’s… off. The tense hunch of her shoulders and the downturn of her mouth and her brows furrowed with thoughts. 

 

She finds herself impatient to get to her dad, because there’s a good chance it’s his - however inadvertent - doing. And Lexa’s eager to leave as she nods again and makes her exit. 

 

Clarke takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, revealing her father to her eyes. Contrary to Lexa, he looks peaceful. Even pleased, and his smile grows wider when he sees her. “Hey, old sport!” 

 

She cringes through her chuckles. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d prefer if we went back to  _ pumpkin _ .” 

 

“You’re no fun,” he dramatically announces as he watches her settle into the chair. Did Lexa sit here as well? Or did she stand the whole time, spine rigid and posture regal - something she slips back into whenever she’s uncomfortable? 

 

“Your girlfriend just left,” he tells her. “She’s nice.” 

 

“Dad.” That gets her back to the task at hand. Find out what they talked about and if it has anything to do with Lexa’s strange demeanor. “She’s not my girlfriend.” 

 

“Give it time, kiddo.” The serene expression on his face is more than enough to aid Clarke’s growing suspicion. 

 

“I just saw her,” she tells him, and when he doesn’t look surprised, her frown deepens. “And now I need you to tell me what you said to her.” 

 

He blinks, as if not having a clue. “We just had a pleasant conversation.” 

 

Clarke sighs, trying to control her growing irritation. She loves him an awful lot, but his meddling is getting old. And, judging by Lexa’s state, detrimental. “Dad, this is serious. She was -- she didn’t look good. Please tell me what the hell is going on.” 

 

At least he has the decency to look guilty as he drops his gaze down to the sheet for a second. “Well -- we talked about you.” Before she has a chance to implode, he continues. “I’m sorry, Clarke, but I said what had to be said. She chose to listen. It’s up to her what she does with it.” 

 

She can practically feel her blood slowly turn cold in her veins, and it’s as unpleasant as it sounds. “What did you tell her?”  

 

He sighs. “That your mistake wasn’t made with malicious intent.” Blue eyes, identical to hers, are full of gentle understanding and the desire for her to have it, too. “That sometimes, there are no good guys - and sometimes, there are no bad guys. Only good people in bad situations. And those people are pushed to do what they believe is right for those they love.” His smile is warm. “And that I have a stubborn kid who loves me too much to let me go, but she always learns from her mistakes.” 

 

She’s struggling not to let tears slide down her cheeks when his voice drops lower, softer. “What I didn’t tell her was that it’ll take you a much longer time to forgive yourself than for her to forgive you. And that’s not something a father wishes for his daughter, but at the same time, I understand. I just don’t want you to lose yourself in your guilt. There might be people beyond redemption, but you’re not one of them.” 

 

She’s not ready to have  _ that _ talk with anyone, so she changes the subject. Clumsily, but he accepts and doesn’t push. 

 

His words stay with her long after she walks out of his room. 

 

// 

 

**_Clarke: [image attached] We saved you some jello._ **

 

Yes, after hours of contemplating what to text Lexa, she goes with that. Not her best line, but -- she doesn’t know how to start talking to her again. She knows it’s not very fair. She knows she doesn’t get to have this lightness, however faux it is, but on the other hand, opening with  _ Will you ever consider forgiving me for my betrayal _ might not be the best option, either. 

 

And it works anyway. Lexa replies after less than a minute. 

 

**_Lexa: That is greatly appreciated. Thank you._ **

 

Well. Not much to work with, but Clarke tries. 

 

**_Clarke: Do you know why they always serve jello at hospitals?_ **

 

**_Lexa: It’s a clear liquid. Easy to digest._ **

 

**_Clarke: Of course you know that._ **

 

**_Lexa: Clarke, I practically own several hospitals :)_ **

 

She doesn’t drop her phone at the sight of a smiley face, but she has to admit she had the urge to do that just to add to the sheer absurdity of Lexa Woods sending her a smiley face.

 

Lexa: To be honest with you, I’ve been thinking about other options to give patients. 

 

**_Clarke: Really? Why?_ **

 

**_Lexa: For personal reasons._ **

 

**_Lexa: I hate jello._ **

 

She chuckles at her phone as she fishes out a bottle of water out of her fridge. It’s such a trivial piece of information, but she finds it endlessly adorable. She doesn’t know why; can’t quite place a finger on it. It’s just so… human. Not that Lexa is not human, but -- whatever. 

 

**_Clarke: You should’ve told me this earlier. I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of saving you some, then._ **

 

**_Lexa: I imagine you went to great lengths to obtain it._ **

 

She bites her lip and rolls her eyes at the urge to twirl a lock of hair on her finger. This is -- it’s flirting, isn’t it? She hopes she’s not reading too much into it. 

 

**_Clarke: I did. Had to fight a nurse. If I suddenly go missing, you know where to start looking first._ **

 

She curses herself immediately after sending the text. Assuming Lexa would look for her if she went missing is… certainly too self-assured than what their situation calls for. 

 

_ Don’t assume I’ll go just because it’s you who asked me to. _ Not quite the same, but close. 

 

_ Don’t think I’ll jump through the hoops for you _ is what Lexa meant, and this is exactly what she’s doing.

 

**_Lexa: I appreciate the tip._ **

 

It’s so easy, Clarke thinks suddenly. Too easy. it’s too easy and light. 

 

_ It can’t be this easy,  _ Lexa told her once, and her eyes were wild and lost. Lexa doesn’t want it easy. And yet, Lexa’s the one who’s now trying to shift everything towards just that. What changed? 

 

That’s something Clarke finds she really wants to know. 

 

But, perhaps - if this has changed, perhaps, Lexa’s attitude to them actually talking about everything has changed, too. Perhaps. 

 

And, since it’s all easy and light - wouldn’t it sound just as easy and light if she asks her to come over, too? 

 

Clarke: I’m glad :) 

 

**_Clarke: Well, anyway, your portion of that godawful non-food is waiting for you in the fridge. Together with homemade pasta._ **

 

**_Lexa: Well. I can never say no to godawful non-food._ **

 

//

 

She doesn’t expect her to come the very next day, but that’s exactly what Lexa does; and to say it’s awkward would be the understatement of the year. Decade. Fucking century. Lexa’s standing in the hallway, looking at her and clearly trying to hold herself back from leaning in. Same as Clarke. 

 

She still counts that as an improvement of sorts. At least Lexa’s not drunk this time. 

 

Clarke kind of wishes she herself was. “Hey,” she smiles, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. 

 

“Hello.” Lexa doesn’t even try to offer her a smile. Most likely because she knows it’ll look strained. “I brought wine.” She raises the bottle so Clarke can see. Knowing Lexa, it’s something classy and nice. Not overly flashy. And probably nowhere near enough to get her drunk. 

 

Clarke chooses to see that curse as a blessing. “Oh, thanks,” she takes a step further back, welcoming Lexa in and taking the bottle from her. “It’s very thoughtful of you.” She feels like in a shitty commercial. 

 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but then again - how else are they supposed to get past it? 

 

_ Are they supposed to get past it at all?  _

 

Clarke shushes her thoughts and gives Lexa another quick smile before turning and leading the way into the kitchen. Everything’s already on the table - Lexa sent her a text telling her when she’ll be there, giving her enough time to prepare. All in all, the night is starting out great. She didn’t burn the food, the candles smell nice, and there’s wine. And Lexa. Who is starting to look like she’d rather be anywhere but here. 

 

This is one of those moments when Clarke wishes she could get a tiny glimpse inside Lexa’s mind. Just one. An extra quick one. 

 

“Smells good,” Lexa tells her quietly as she sits down, and Clarke curses herself when her eyes fall to her torso, watching as her shirt stretched across her abs with the movement. It’s been -- it’s been way too long since… But she’s not here because of that. 

 

“Thank you.” She gnaws at her lower lip as she tries to distract herself with studying the bottle. It’s wine, and it’s red - that’s all she really gets before giving up and placing it on the counter. 

 

“Oh,” Lexa’s at her side in an instant, confidently fishing out the corkscrew out of the first drawer and grabbing the bottle with her other hand. “Let me--” 

 

“Oh, it’s okay, I’m--” 

 

They both freeze when their hands touch, each tugging the bottle in an opposite direction. Clarke suddenly finds it hilarious. How funny they must look, standing there with a bottle between them. 

 

“I…” Lexa takes a deep breath before letting out a light chuckle and closing her eyes. She shakes her head, releasing the wine first. “It isn’t working, is it?” 

 

Clarke swallows. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re talking about.” 

 

“This,” Lexa gestures between them, still smiling that weird, serene-like smile. “This whole attempt at being civil. Easy. It’s not working.” 

 

Now, Clarke’s lips are stretching in a small smile, as well, in spite of her. “Are you trying to say we suck at being civil?” 

 

Green eyes sparkle. “I think you know what I mean.” Lexa’s smile doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows wider. 

 

_ Just a peek. Just to get an idea of what’s going through your head right now. _ “Maybe.” 

 

By the time Lexa leans in, her lips on hers are more than expected, and the kiss feels equally exhilarating and inevitable. But the taste is different. Lexa’s almost calm as she takes the lead. Gently pushes at her waist before entwining her arms around it, making Clarke gasp into her mouth. 

 

“I hope,” she mumbles, then, pulling away only slightly, so their lips brush against each other, “you’ll forgive me for letting your cooking go to waste this time.” 

 

She said easy wasn’t working, but why does it feel so-- “Lexa,” she almost whines because those deft fingers are already caressing her back, expert and sure. “I don’t give a fuc--” 

 

Another kiss, this time punctuated with a nip. Gentle enough not to break skin; sharp enough to be remembered. “Potty mouth,” Lexa grins against her lips.  _ Grins _ . She can feel it. The arch of her mouth and the tone of her voice, and the knowledge makes the small hair on the back of her neck stand up with surprise and near-electric pleasure. 

 

The words  _ are you going to punish me _ are there, ready at the tip of her tongue, ready to stumble from her lips, but she holds back just in time. Because even if they sound playful, they are anything but. Because they carry the dark undertone of everything Clarke’s put Lexa through and and everything she actually does deserve to be punished for. That she wants to be punished for. 

 

Lexa doesn’t want her to bring it up. And Clarke -- as she’s melting in Lexa’s embrace and kisses, she thinks she wants everything Lexa wants.


	10. Chapter 10

She wakes with a start, and at first, she doesn’t recognize her surroundings. Then, it all comes flooding back. Lexa. Wine, left opened and untouched. Greedy hands and gentle sighs and fervent whispers exchanged till early morning.

 

 _Lexa_.

 

Her right side is warm, and as she becomes more awake, she realizes it’s because there’s someone pressed against it. Breathing even and deep, with an arm and a leg thrown over her body.

 

 _She stayed._ Feeling her there - still with her - is an experience so bizarre Clarke’s first response is to flee. The only reason she makes herself stay put is because she doesn’t want to jostle Lexa out of her deep slumber.

 

And it’s been so fucking long since she could feel her like this. Since Lexa’s trusted her enough to be this vulnerable next to her. The inevitable _why_ crawls through her mind, but she chases it away. Not right now. Later, when Lexa’s awake; and rolling away from her and silently gathering her clothes and not looking her way, most likely; she’ll deal with it in the morning.

 

For now, she turns in Lexa’s arms and lets her tears fall as she quietly maps her sleeping face with her fingertips.

 

//

 

Lexa wakes gradually and slowly, and there’s painful familiarity in the way she clings to her at first, before she’s fully awake. Clarke doesn’t move. She’s half-afraid of breathing. Afraid it’ll scare her away.

 

It doesn’t, and, perhaps, that’s even more terrifying.

 

“Hey.” Lexa’s voice is rough with sleep, and her eyes are still closed. But there’s a barely visible wrinkle next to the right corner of her lips - a sign of her usual muted smile. There’s a lightness to her touch as she doesn’t move her arm from Clarke’s waist.

 

“Hey,” Clarke replies, and swallows the last of her tears before relaxing her face in an answering smile Lexa doesn’t see yet.

 

“What time is it?”

 

“Early.” To know the exact hour, she’ll have to roll away from Lexa and check her phone. Rolling away from Lexa means not being in her embrace anymore. And if she leaves it now, there’s a good chance she won’t be back in it any time soon.

 

She doesn’t want to lose this moment. Not yet.

 

Lexa’s ghost of a smile grows, ever so subtly. “Precise,” she teases her before cracking one eye open - and Clarke has to fight the immediate urge to reach for her nightstand and get her sketchbook out. If there ever was something worthy of immortalizing, it’s the image she’s presented with now. Lexa’s hair is messed up, wild curls sticking out in all directions, and there’s mascara caked around her eyes, and she’s frowning at the sunlight with mock displeasure, one eye shut and face screwed up in a funny, cartoonish way.

 

Clarke wants to keep this Lexa forever.

 

“I’m the exact opposite of precise.”

 

Lexa shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s an off-putting quality.” She doesn’t elaborate whether she’s talking about preciseness or the lack of it, and Clarke doesn’t ask. She’s content simply laying there. She thinks that the longer they are silent, the longer they can pretend that everything’s okay. The longer they can float in this limbo where it’s just the two of them, and everything else is left in the outside world.

 

But that’s not something she gets to have, is it? “Are you in a hurry?”

 

“Not really.” Lexa opens both of her eyes, now, and Clarke watches the hazy sea of green struggle to focus. “Are you?”

 

“Not really,” she echoes. “I have to be at the hospital in… several hours. Depending on what time it is right now.”

 

She expects Lexa to rise to her feet and check the time.

 

“Early.” The smile grows even more. “It’s early. We still --” Green eyes sharpen with something heavy, for the briefest second. “-- we have time.”

 

The way Lexa’s thumb starts to draw circles on her skin is shaky, unsure. Part of her wants to gently cover her hand with her own, show her it’s okay - show her it’s _hers_ , and she never, ever has to be unsure. But another, bigger part of her is still scared of scaring her, so she doesn’t move. She just lays there.

 

When Lexa’s touch grows bolder, her eyes flutter closed. She doesn’t notice when she slips into slumber.

 

//

 

She wakes again, and this time, Lexa is gone. It’s expected. It’s much less jarring than finding her next to her, that’s for sure. Clarke bites the inside of her cheek and sits up, hand sliding down the cool sheet on Lexa’s side of the bed.

 

But there’s a delicious smell coming from the kitchen, seconds after a quiet _crap!_ uttered in a loud, frustrated whisper. And that’s definitely not Raven. Raven would be yelling out something much more explicit. Plus, she never actually cooks anything. She usually just brings something from a bakery if she comes over.

 

Clarke doesn’t let herself hope as she throws the sheet away and tugs her t-shirt on. _Could be mom,_ she tells herself as she rushes to her bedroom door. _Octavia. Finn._ _A new neighbor. Why not? Lexa could’ve forgotten to close the door on her way out and--_

 

“Hey.” Lexa’s voice is mildly apologetic as she stares at her from the kitchen, holding her finger under the running tap. “Did I wake you?” When Clarke doesn’t reply, she takes it as a yes. “I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet, but -- there’s been an emergency.” The tips of her ears burn red.

 

“It’s okay,” Clarke finds herself saying. She’s still dumbfounded. Frozen as she takes in the scene: Lexa in her sweatpants, in her kitchen, bathed in bright morning light. “I -- you didn’t wake me. What happened?”

 

_Why are you still here?_

 

Lexa flushes. “I, uh, I wanted to make French toast.” She gestures to the fresh pile on the table. There’s even steam coming off of it, and Clarke stares at the source of the heavenly smell, still struggling to comprehend everything that’s happening. “I mean, I did make some, but then the pan refused to cooperate with me. As did butter. They formed an alliance, and…” Lexa trails off, presenting her index finger to Clarke’s disbelieving eyes. It’s red, and she can already see a blister forming.

 

She springs into action before she has the time to fully process it all. “Come on,” she says, taking Lexa’s hand and gently tugging her to the couch. “I’ll get the cream.”

 

Lexa’s silent while Clarke tends to her injury, but it’s not tense. For the first time in awhile - a long while - the silence is easy. Comfortable. It also lets Clarke gather her thoughts, left scrambled after a morning out of Twilight Zone.

 

“Thank you,” Lexa tells her when she finishes putting a bandage on her finger.

 

 _You’re welcome,_ she wants to say, but what comes out instead is far less tactful. “What’s going on?”

 

Lexa blinks. “Um… I wanted to make breakfast?”

 

“I know.” Clarke thinks she’d better stop while she still can’t, but that’s the thing. She can’t. It comes pouring out of her, and she’s helpless to stop it. “That’s not what I’m asking. I’m just -- what’s going on? Why are you -- you’re still here when usually you’re gone before I wake up. Or -- before I go to sleep, even.” She can’t stop the hurt from seeping through, and the muscles in Lexa’s jaw twitch as her face grows unreadable. “I don’t get it, Lexa,” she finishes, in a whisper. “I just want… I just want to understand.”

 

Lexa takes a long pause before answering, and her eyes are distant when she does. “I’m afraid I can’t explain it, Clarke,” she says, “because I don’t understand it, either.”

 

“You spoke to my father,” Clarke fires, desperate to keep Lexa there, even though she can already see her shutting down. Maybe she should’ve kept quiet. “He didn’t tell me anything, but -- is that why? Is that the reason for -- this?”

 

There’s some of the morning Lexa back as she cocks her head to the side. “For me making breakfast?” She's doing it on purpose. Pretending. Clarke knows she is.

 

She doesn’t stop pushing. “No,” she breathes. “For you staying.”

 

Lexa’s gaze hardens, but she doesn’t try to evade the question this time. “I don’t know,” she says, truthfully. “I -- maybe. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know.” Green eyes search Clarke’s face, and it takes everything for her to stay put and not to lean into Lexa at the quiet desperation she finds there. “All I know is that I woke up and I didn’t want to leave.” She watches Lexa’s throat bob as she swallows. Watches the sharp cut of her jaw as she locks it. “So I didn’t. And I don’t know if I’m making the right choice. Probably not. And it’s not -- it’s not a final choice, it’s nothing definite and you have to understand that, Clarke, but for now… For now, I want to stay.”

 

Lexa’s hand is still in Clarke’s and she squeezes it, gently, carefully, minding the burnt finger. “We have to talk,” she whispers. “At some point, we have to talk.”

 

“I know. But -- just for now.” It’s easy to see how difficult the words are for Lexa. “Just for now, can we simply… be?”

 

 _There’s not much I wouldn’t do,_ Clarke thinks, _if it’s you who asks._ “Yes,” she breathes. “Yes.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

_I’ve never been more confused. I wish I were exaggerating._

 

_You said you wanted to stay. For now. What does that mean? I couldn’t ask you yesterday, because you looked so tense, and I didn’t want to drive you away. Does that mean you’re at least considering being with me? And what would that mean for both of us?_

 

_You don’t trust me. You can’t trust me. Honestly, I’d be a little freaked out if you just started trusting me all of a sudden. I don’t deserve it. Not yet. But - are you willing to let me earn it? And - why?_

 

_This is quickly turning into a questionnaire rather than a diary. Or a letter collection. That probably suits this better._

 

_My head legitimately hurts from thinking so much. Same thoughts, over and over again._

 

_You were so… you, last night. I couldn’t believe it. Thought I was gonna wake up any moment now, so I hang on for as long as I could. I was afraid of looking at you wrong, afraid of breathing too loud, because I was scared I’d make it all disappear with one wrong move._

 

_I can’t shake the feeling that this is a perfect illusion, and it’s going to shatter soon. Like a mirror, you know? Do you feel it, too? Is that why you’re so desperate to keep up with it?_

 

_Will I ever get the answers to all of these questions?_

 

//

 

Lexa leaves with a tentative kiss, and Clarke stands in her hallway long after that, fingers pressed to her lips and gaze fixed on the closed door. Then, she sighs, turns and goes back to her room to get ready for her shift.

 

(“I’m free tonight,” Lexa told her over their awkward breakfast, suddenly. “If you don’t have any plans, we could see each other again.”

 

Clarke nodded and blinked at her plate, not trusting herself to speak.)

 

At first, she wasn’t going to take Lexa up on her barely-offer. For a second of sudden clarity, she thought to herself that some distance would probably do them some good. But it’s Lexa. And when it comes to Lexa -- lately, she’s been losing the ability to think clearly.

 

That’s why she finds herself in front of Lexa’s building. Again. Hoping she’s not going to run into her sweet, if slightly overbearing, neighbour and his yappy dog. Knowing she’d take that neighbour over _Kate_ any day.

 

(There is an awful feeling inside her chest that she hates herself for. That this is a cruel set up orchestrated by Lexa, and she’s about to walk in on _Kate_ and her again, in a situation much more compromising and much less dressed. _But this is Lexa,_ Clarke tells herself. _Lexa would never do something like that._ )

 

She can’t help the feeling, though. It sits like a stone in her stomach as she slowly walks up the stairs, past the concierge, into the elevator. _Ding,_ it goes, and a second later, she’s standing in a long hallway, trying to get her breathing under control.

 

_Stop. Calm down. It’s Lexa._

 

_Exactly._

 

She takes a deep breath, readjusts the bottle of wine in her hands and walks up to the familiar door. _Unlocked._ Clarke’s heart jumps up and falls.

 

_Lexa and someone else’s lips pressed to her neck as someone else’s hands--_

 

She swallows and sets her face in a scowl - whether at herself or at the possibility that Lexa is capable of something like that, she’s not sure. _First one,_ she thinks, and pushes the door open with determination she doesn’t feel.

 

There are sounds coming from within the apartment - shouting, really, and not the kind Clarke dreads. But, perhaps, those are even worse.

 

“--of all people, _you_ would be _this_ stupid!” A deep male voice practically growls, and Clarke thinks she can hear his agitated pacing.

 

“Did you forget who you were talking to?” Another voice, this time female, asks in an equally harsh tone. Lexa.

 

Lincoln.

 

“Well, you make it easy,” Clarke hears him fire back. Based on her quick calculation, they are in the kitchen. She should probably leave while she still can. It’s a given that she shouldn’t be here - that’s definitely not her place. Meanwhile, Lincoln continues. “Lexa I know--”

 

“Well maybe you don’t know me as much as you think you do.”

 

The silence that follows is deafening. Clarke curses at herself. She should’ve left earlier. They’d hear her if she did it now, there’s no doubt about that.

 

Full ten seconds pass before Lincoln speaks again. Clarke knows because she’s counted. “Lex.” His voice is quieter than before. Anger is gone from it, too, and all that’s left is pure anguish. “You’re my _sister._ ”

 

“And you’re my brother, Linc,” Lexa answers just as quietly, “but this is my life. Not yours.”

 

“Then,” Lincoln says after another small pause, “when it falls apart, I’ll still be here.”

 

She hears Lexa sigh. “Linc…”

 

Clarke barely has the time to think that it’s her chance to escape when Lincoln himself walks out of the kitchen into the spacious living room and catches her eyes with his own that immediately harden. Lexa appears next, hot on his heels, but she stops when she notices Clarke standing near the door, and her face becomes a confused frown.

 

Clarke swallows. “Uh,” she says, and her voice comes out rough, scratchy. She clears her throat. “The door was open. I -- I’m sorry.”

 

Lincoln doesn’t reply. His face grows so emotionless it’s like it’s cut from wood. Frozen. Only his eyes blaze as they bore into her for another second, and then, he’s the first one to tear his gaze away and brush past her as he storms out.

 

Clarke suppresses the urge to jump when he slams the door behind him, making Lexa wince.

 

“I probably should’ve called before coming here.” Clarke’s the first one to find her voice, looking at Lexa apologetically as she speaks. “I can -- I think I should go. You probably want to follow him.”

 

Lexa shrugs. “Not particularly,” she says, and the cold in her voice makes Clarke shudder before she realizes it’s not directed at her. “He needs to cool off first.” She blinks, and the last of ice melts from the forest green of her eyes. “Are you hungry? I don’t have much food, I’m afraid, but I could whip up something quick.”

 

“No, thank you, though. I ate at the hospital.”

 

The right corner of Lexa’s mouth twitches. “Then you’re most definitely hungry.”

 

Clarke gives her an answering small smile, still unsure. “You got me.”

 

//

 

She asks Lexa in the middle of their dinner, unable to keep quiet any longer. “so are you guys -- okay?” At Lexa’s puzzled look, she elaborates. “I mean -- you and Lincoln. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded pretty intense.”

 

Lexa sighs. Pushes her plate, mostly untouched, away, and slowly dabs at her mouth with a napkin before replying. “Most of my conversations with my family are when it comes to that particular topic,” she says musingly. Clarke’s not sure she’s still with her. Or -- she hasn’t really been fully with her the entire evening.

 

 _That particular topic._ Well. Surely, the Woods clan has more things to worry about than Lexa’s personal life. The thought, however, makes Clarke worried. What does Lexa get up to that causes this much stress for her brother?

 

“It’s us.” Clarke lifts her gaze to meet Lexa’s stoic one. “That topic. It’s us. You and me. I…” she closes her eyes, briefly, and some of the fatigue from her earlier fight with Lincoln seeps through. Clarke watches her run a hand down her face, and her fingers twitch to take it in hers, but she tells herself to stay put. “I told him about our…” she trails off, not finishing, and Clarke doesn’t ask her to.

 

“Oh,” she says instead, and pushes her plate away, too.

 

“Yes,” Lexa says. “It was only… partly my decision.” At Clarke’s questioning look, she gives a rueful smile. “He was at my apartment when we -- when I spent the night with you. And, when I got home, he was there, ready to scold me for dragging poor innocent girls into my mess.” Judging by Lexa’s wry smirk, Clarke gets the feeling it’s a direct quote. “I… may have lost my temper. I guess people tend to do that with their annoying little brothers.”

 

“Lincoln’s younger than you?”

 

Lexa’s wry smirk grows. “Is that the only thing you want to ask me after everything I’ve told you?” Before Clarke has a chance to reply, she speaks again. “Yes. He’s your age.”

 

Clarke suddenly realizes there’s a lot she still doesn’t know about Lexa. “Oh,” she says. “Well, I don’t think the way he took it is surprising. It makes sense.”

 

“What do you mean?” Green eyes sharpen as Lexa studies her with scrutiny Clarke’s not quite used to coming from her.

 

She licks her lips. “For everyone else, this,” she gestures between them, “will probably seem like a very bad idea.” _And no one - not even us - can describe what ‘this’ is._

 

Lexa rises to her feet, slowly, taking her plate and silently asking if Clarke’s done with her food, too. When she nods, she collects her plate, too, and walks around her to put it in the sink. It seems like they are done with this conversation - and that’s why Lexa’s quiet question, spoken from behind her, takes her by surprise.

 

“And do you think it’s a bad idea?”

 

Question of the day, Clarke thinks darkly and stands up as well, turning around to face an equally somber Lexa. “Do _you_?” She breathes out.

 

Lexa’s silent for a long moment as her eyes take Clarke in. “No,” she replies slowly. “I don’t -- I don’t think I think so.”

 

 _Interesting wording,_ Clarke chuckles to herself. _Accurate, too._ “Then I don’t, either.”

 

Something flashes through Lexa’s eyes at Clarke’s words, and she looks like she wants to say something - to argue, even, but she doesn’t get the chance to because Clarke surges forward, gently pressing her lips to Lexa’s soft ones.

 

//

 

No matter how much she kind of wishes it were - at least for the time being - last night isn’t the last she sees of Lincoln.

 

“Miss Griffin,” he says with that polite coldness she’s grown accustomed to associate with him as she collides with his broad chest after turning a corner. And -- she can’t be one hundred percent sure, but she’s willing to bet there’s a chance he did that on purpose.

 

She almost loses her footing after the collision, and it’s only his strong, steady grasp that saves her from falling on her ass. She can’t help her reflex when she yanks her arm out of his hold. “It’s Clarke,” she lets him know.

 

He ignores that. “You’re just the person I’ve been looking for.”

 

She really wants to sass if she should start looking for snipers, but she doesn’t have that right, so she swallows her bitter comeback and simply asks: “Why?”

 

And -- God, he and Lexa are nothing alike, but sometimes, she sees her in his glances and and a small, crooked half-smirk he’s sporting, and in the tilt of his head. The only thing missing is warmth. She thinks that with this man, it’s the only thing she’ll never get the chance to see. “I’m afraid it’ll take a little longer than a quick hallway chat allows for,” he informs her. “May I ask you to join me for lunch, Miss Griffin?”

 

She grits her teeth and nods, deciding against pointlessly reminding him to call her by her first name.

 

//

 

Clarke cuts to the chase as soon as they sit down in a small French cafe nearby. “So what this is about?”

 

Lincoln tsks in his coffee. “Sometimes I can see why my sister is so taken with you. This is not one of those moments.” She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at the jab.

 

“Noted,” she says dryly. “The thing is - I’m pretty sure you want to be here even less than I do. I’m just trying to make it easier for both of us.”

 

LIncoln pauses as he takes a small, measured sip. His cold smirk is still in place as he puts the cup down and unbuttons his jacket, revealing a waistcoat underneath. “You’re… surprising.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “You don’t like me for reasons that are more than valid,” she says. “And -- you might not believe me, but I like myself even less.”

 

Lincoln’s face doesn’t express any thoughts he might have about her confession. _He did learn from the best, after all,_ Clarke muses. She imagines him trailing after Lexa everywhere she went when they were kids. Or, perhaps, they didn’t interact much until their teen years, like Octavia and Bell. Speaking of - it’s been awhile since she talked to O last. She should probably give her a call after she’s done being crucified.

 

“Very well,” Lincoln says slowly. “I believe you know I’m aware of your… affair with my sister.” She wonders if he’s not calling her by her name on purpose. “I think you also know that that’s not something any of us are pleased with.”

 

Clarke feels like a block of ice just dropped in her stomach. “Did you tell everyone?”

 

“I haven’t been forced to yet,” Lincoln says calmly. Takes another sip and stares her in the eye, making sure she got the message loud and clear. _Depends on the outcome of this conversation._

 

She swallows in spite of herself. “Right. I think I know why you’re here.” She thinks she knew as soon as she bumped into him at the hospital.

 

“If there’s one thing you’re not, it’s dumb,” Lincoln muses, and she catches a spec of bitterness before he collects himself. “Name your price, Miss Griffin.”

 

She’s shaking her head even before he finishes his sentence. “No. No way.” She can’t even imagine the pain Lexa would be in if she, for some unfathomable, insane reason agreed to Lincoln’s proposition. “It’s not about the money. That’s not--” saying the words hurt because it’s _their_ thing from what seems like a forever ago, but she swallows the pain down and pushes through. “That’s not why I’m here. With her.”

 

“Like I said, Miss Griffin,” Lincoln says evenly, but his fingers twitch , once, with barely restrained irritation, “this situation is _not_ something we’re pleased with. Whether it’s about the money or not, take it. Or don’t. You have my word Lexa won’t ever find out if that’s what you’re worried about, and frankly, I don’t care what you end up doing with them.” He pushes himself off the back of the comfortable chair into a straight position and then leans in, slowly enough for it to be threatening. Dangerous. His voice drops lower. “All I care about is you staying away from her. And I really, _really_ don’t want my hand to be forced, Miss Griffin.”

 

She can see now that he’s younger than Lexa. It’s in the cracks of his mask and in the twitching of his fingers and in the straightforwardness of his threat - a threat, however, that Clarke has no doubt he is able to make a reality. She can’t help but think idly that Anya would’ve delivered it much more flawlessly, though.

 

And Lexa -- Lexa doesn’t do threats. Does she?

 

She thinks of her gentle smile and tentative hands and green eyes hazy with sleep. “I -- Lincoln,” she says, begs, and her voice breaks. “I love her. I just -- I _love_ her.”

 

He takes his hand off the table, but she doesn’t miss the way it curls in a fist; and he leans in even closer. “You say you love her,” he says, in that same low voice sizzling with danger. “But that love is _destroying_ her. Is that love really worth holding on to when it’s ruining the one it’s intended for?”

 

Knowingly or not, his words hit the most vulnerable spot, and she draws a sharp breath. He shakes his head and stands up, throwing a single bill on the table, together with what appears to be his business card. “I said everything I wanted you to hear,” he says in a same voice he’s started with. “Consider my offer. You have a week.” She watches him button his jacket up, rooted to the spot. “I’ll be waiting for your call, Miss Griffin.”

 

With that, he turns and leaves.


	12. Chapter 12

“Lincoln offered you a deal.” Lexa’s voice is calm as she repeats Clarke’s earlier words, but her subtly narrowed eyes and the tense line of her mouth give her suspicion away.

 

The hurt that stabs at her chest is inevitable, but not unexpected, just like Lexa’s doubt isn’t. It’s her word against her brother’s, and they don’t exactly compare. Only one of them had already betrayed Lexa’s trust.

 

She lets out a breath, nodding. “Yesterday.” She spent the night staring out the window and thinking his words over. Over and over.

 

_‘Your love is destroying her.’_

 

Lexa’s careful with her words when she speaks again. “I hope you understand that this -- it’s a lot to take for granted.”

 

“I know.” Clarke lets out another breath, this time heavier, and leans back - slouches, more like it - into the couch, taking her eyes off Lexa and studying her coffee table. “I don’t expect you to believe me without proof, you know,” she points out, and Lexa shifts next to her, almost unsurely, but she inconspicuously scoots away from her. “But I also don’t want to keep anything from you.” A rueful smile touches her lips, and she hears Lexa sigh. “Didn’t work out very well in the past.”

 

Lexa’s silent for several seconds, before: “Call him. Tell him you’re in.” When Clarke finally looks at her again with disbelief, her shoulders are tense. “I believe that would be proof enough.”

 

Clarke blinks, incredulous, but Lexa’s gaze on her is unwavering. _She’s not joking._ “Lexa, he’ll kill me when he finds out I set him up.”

 

“I’ll handle it.” There’s a new kind of fire within Lexa’s green eyes, and its intensity is almost frightening. “I just need to -- I need to be sure.” Of what, Lexa doesn’t specify, but Clarke doesn’t need her to.

 

 _This -- I could show her she can be sure of me. Of us._ “I’ll do it,” falls from her lips before she even fully processes what’s about to go down. “Right now.”

 

Lexa’s nod is confident, but her gaze is not. “Okay.”

 

Lincoln picks up after the third ring. Clarke wonders if he made her wait on purpose while he utters a greeting. “ _Well_ ,” he says, with a humorless chuckle, and Lexa’s jaw tightens as she listens to her unsuspecting brother on speaker phone. “ _That was fast._ ”

 

Clarke glances at her. “I’m in,” she says, practically snaps, suddenly wishing for this conversation to be over. “I accept the deal, and I’ll stay away from Lexa when you hold up your end of it.” She swallows at the dark frown on Lexa’s face that’s deepening by the second.

 

 

“ _Of course_ ,” Lincoln replies, and he doesn’t even try to hide his smug grin. Maybe he doesn’t know Clarke can hear it in his voice. But she can, and so can Lexa, and there’s a bitter crease to her brow as she locks her jaw with anger. “ _So how much would this cost me, Miss Griffin?_ ”

 

Well, fuck - she didn’t think of a number. When she glances at Lexa, she realizes she won’t be much help. “I -- I need to meet with you again,” she quickly says, grimacing when Lexa raises an eyebrow at her. “There are… um, several conditions I need to discuss with you, and I won’t do it by phone.”

 

“ _I’m not tapping it if that’s what you’re worried about,_ ” Lincoln says.

 

“It’s not. But we still need to discuss all the terms.”

 

There’s a pause. It’s clear Lincoln doesn’t want to see her again, and the feeling is rather mutual, but Clarke’s already began to dig herself a hole. Might as well go all out. “Fine,” he says in a clipped tone. “ _I’m available this Thursday at lunch. I trust you to make it quick, Miss Griffin._ ”

 

“Of course,” she can’t help but mock his earlier words. He either doesn’t notice or pretends not to notice.

 

“ _Good. Till Thursday._ ” He promptly hangs up afterwards, and they are left to stare at the phone. Dial tone is sharp and annoying, so Clarke quickly presses the end button.

 

She meets Lexa’s eyes and suppresses urge to shudder at the sheer _anger_ she finds in them. “I’m sorry,” she offers in a whisper. “I’d -- I’d rather I were lying.”

 

“No,” Lexa rasps, before clearing her throat. “No, you --” The speed with which she springs to her feet is nothing short of frightening, and Clarke recoils in her seat for a fraction of a second. Before the realization of where Lexa’s going sinks in.

 

Her hand is on Lexa’s wrist, and even Lexa’s hot glare doesn’t make her drop it. “Clarke.” And neither does the barely constrained rage in her voice.

 

She only raises an eyebrow at her and comes closer, fingers still wrapped around a slim wrist. “Lexa,” she says, evenly. “You can’t go after him in this state, and you know it.”

 

“All I know is that the boy needs a lesson or two,” Lexa growls before tearing her hand out of her grasp and heading for the door, Clarke hot on her heels.

 

“I’m not saying you’re not wrong, because you aren’t, but you need to cool off first.” She practically jogs ahead of Lexa, placing herself between her and the door. Green eyes finally meet hers, and she struggles to keep her voice calm when she sees the pure anger blazing at her. _It’s not for me. It’s not._

 

_Is it?_

 

“Lex,” she tries again, and the harsh lines of Lexa’s face smooth, just barely, at the tender name. It doesn’t last long. “Please. I know you’re angry with him, but -- he was doing what he thought was right for his family.” She swallows the last of her hurt down. “For _you_. He was trying to protect you.”

 

“I don’t need his protection.” Lexa’s green eyes are sharp and wild. “I don’t need anyone’s protection.”

Clarke decides against pointing out that just because she doesn’t _want_ it -- “Okay,” she says instead, palms up. “Okay. But -- please. I don’t want to be the reason for you’re fighting with him.” _Again._

 

Lexa must see something in her gaze, because she lets out a loud breath and nods, reluctantly. Clarke thinks it’s scary. How much power she still has over her, after everything. It’s not -- it’s not something she wants. It’s definitely something she’d be happy to give up. “Fine,” she bites out, not even realizing how much she sounds like Lincoln.

 

And moves towards the door again, only to be stopped by a perplexed Clarke. “Whoa. Wait. I thought we agreed on something.”

 

Lexa’s sigh is small and tired. “We did,” she says. “But -- I need to go clear my head. This was -- a lot,” she admits, dropping her gaze to the floor for a second.  

 

It was, wasn’t it? Her finding out her brother is scheming behind her back, her getting actual proof her brother is scheming behind her back - not to mention the whole thing with Clarke and trust, or, really, lack thereof - only to be proved the damn near impossible.

 

Clarke wasn’t lying, and Lincoln -- Lincoln wasn’t, either, but he was withholding the truth, and in this situation, Clarke’s not really sure which one is worse.

 

She swallows. Doesn’t step away from the door. “I -- I could… leave, if you want.”

 

Lexa glances to the side. “I don’t think that would be necessary, Clarke,” she says. “Or appropriate.”

 

“...Appropriate.”

 

“I’m not going to kick you out of your our home just because I need a meltdown,” Lexa snaps. And -- she knows it’s not about her. Not _for_ her, but it still feels like she’s been slapped.

 

She swallows that down as well. “Well, I’m not going to let you wander the streets at night when you’re alone and upset,” she says defiantly. “Either you stay here, or I’m going with you.”

 

Lexa looks like she’s ready to spend the whole night arguing, and Clarke’s sure her own glare is a testament to that, too. She doesn’t know what it would’ve come to if it weren’t for Raven Reyes, who chose this exact moment to open the door with her key and quite literally walk into Clarke.

 

“Yo Griff -- ooh.”

 

It takes Lexa a mere second to slip her stoic mask back on. “Miss Reyes,” she says, and there’s that detached politeness that makes Clarke wince internally. “Hello.” She looks at Clarke next. “I should go.”

 

Not going to happen. “Perfect,” she practically snaps in reply. “Raven needs the place to study, right, Rae?”

 

Her friend looks between them, then down at the plastic bag full of beer she’s holding, then back at Clarke again. There’s a myriad of unasked questions in her curious eyes, and she just knows she won’t be able to brush her off with an ‘ _I don’t wanna talk about it’_ this time. “Yeah,” she simply says, and Clarke’s so grateful for her she could kiss her. She probably would have if Lexa’s face wasn’t this blank at having seen Raven feeling at home in her apartment again. “Totally.”

 

Clarke turns to give Lexa a triumphant grin. “I’m ready whenever you are.” She doesn’t know why she’s acting so bratty. Maybe she knows Lexa needs this little bit of riling up to take her mind off the fact that her brother’s scheming behind her back. Maybe she needs to blow off some steam herself. She doesn’t know, and whatever the reason is, it’s probably fucked up, so she’s not going to think too deep about it.

 

All she knows is that right now, Lexa shouldn’t be alone.

 

And Lexa clearly disagrees. “Clarke,” she says, warningly.

 

“Lexa.”

 

“Raven!” When they give Raven a puzzled look, she only shrugs. “What? I couldn’t resist. I mean, it’s a Shrek line. It’s iconic by definition. That’s my name, by the way,” she tells Lexa. “Not Miss Reyes. _Miss Reyes_ makes my skin crawl.”

 

Lexa blinks. “Noted.”

 

“Why is it such a big deal whether you guys stay or leave?” Well. It’s definitely been more bluntness than subtlety with Raven. Clarke’s not sure she’s appreciating it right now, but she’s certainly sure she can’t do anything about it.

 

“It’s not,” Lexa is quick to reassure her. “I’ve more than overstayed my welcome, and Clarke is being courteous by trying to make it seem like I haven’t.”

 

Raven snorts and drops the bag to the floor. “Sorry, this shit is heavy and my arms are killing me,” she says, not sounding apologetic at all. “Knowing Clarke, that’s definitely _not_ just about courtesy.”

 

“Raven,” Clarke hisses, but her so-called friend shushes her and focuses her attention back on Lexa who’s looking more uncomfortable by the second.

 

“Since it’s not a big deal and I have it on good authority that you won’t outstay your welcome here in foreseeable future, we could all hang out here. I brought enough beer for the three of us and Griffin’s a decent cook when she wants to be.”

 

“Thanks,” Clarke mutters. Unsurprisingly, she gets ignored.

 

“I could always go out and get fancier stuff, too. You look like you like wine,” Raven continues.

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lexa deadpans, but Clarke spies a barely-there upward twitch of her lips.

 

“It probably was one,” Raven says before grabbing the bag off the floor and taking a confident step inside the apartment, closing the door behind her. “Now. How do you feel about The Walking Dead?”

 

“If there’s anything that’s outstayed its welcome, it’s that show.”

 

Raven cracks an impressed grin. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

 

//

 

It’s not that Clarke is a petty person. But - simply objectively speaking - this is going much better than any of Lexa’s social functions she’s attended. Also objectively speaking, that’s mostly due to the fact that Lexa’s not the one who knowingly set the whole relationship up for a betrayal at the end.

 

Maybe she shouldn’t really go down the comparison route since she’s not gonna win anyway. Although - once again, objectively speaking - Raven’s much funnier than all of Lexa’s friends combined. That’s something she can revel in, at least.

 

She watches Lexa hide her grin in her cup at something Raven’s said, and it’s getting harder and harder to fight off the urge to lace their fingers together the more beer she drinks. She’s reached her tipsy stage a cup ago. Maybe she should slow down before she embarrasses herself and scares Lexa away.

 

Although, judging by the amount of beer Lexa drank herself and by undecipherable glances she keeps throwing Clarke’s way that keep growing more heated each time, she’s not the only one. And Raven -- even though subtlety isn’t her strong suit when it comes to using it, she’s got no trouble picking up on it. That’s how Clarke finds herself in the kitchen next to her after she’s called her to help her with ice - which, by the way, has got to be the flimsiest cover-up to ever exist - whispering back and forth.

 

“Okay, princess,” Raven quietly says, and Clarke’s drunk enough not to dwell on the nickname, “We both know clothes will hit the floor as soon as I leave, so my question is do you want that to happen or not?”

 

Clarke doesn’t really have an answer to that, so she hides behind a rhetorical “who wouldn’t?” and throws a glance at Lexa. Who’s in the middle of staring at her.

 

 

“Ugh,” she hears Raven mutter behind her. “You’re already wasted, so you’re no help. Now I have to figure that out for myself. Just for the record, it would’ve been much easier to do if you explained the nature of your relationship to me after Lexa saw me without pants.”

 

She tears her gaze away from Lexa to try and refocus her attention on her best friend. “If you gotta go, it’s cool,” she lets her know. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

 

Raven gives her a dubious look. “You’re not thinking with the right head, are you.”

 

“I don’t have that other head you’re hinting at.”

 

“Well, technically, your clit is--”

 

“Oh, my God,” Clarke’s whisper grows louder. “Look, we’re both drunk and we respect each other’s boundaries. I’m not gonna sleep with her tonight.”

 

She realizes she’s slipped up when Raven gives her a sly look. “Just tonight, huh?”

 

She scoffs. “You know what I mean.”

 

“Of course I do. You’re in so much trouble once you’re sober. For never telling me you’re banging her on the down low.”

 

“That’s not what we’re doing,” she says, because it’s not. Lexa’s the one doing the banging. So, technically, that’s not what’s happening.

 

She might be a little drunker than originally thought.

 

“Hey, I don’t blame you,” Raven whispers. “She’s, like, _ridiculously_ hot.”

 

Clarke takes another look at Lexa who’s lounging on her couch, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms and the sharp cut of her jaw even more pronounced as she smirks at something she sees on tv.

 

“That’s definitely my cue to leave. I have no desire to see you bent over that couch.” Raven whispers next to her.

 

She turns away from Lexa to glare at her. “We’re adults, okay? Nothing’s happening tonight. If you do need to go, then go.”

 

“I don’t need to, but I really, really want to.”

 

//

 

Okay, so maybe she kinda lied to her best friend. Maybe. Maybe, she also doesn’t really feel guilty at all. It’s difficult to feel anything other than helplessly aroused when Lexa’s got her pressed up against the door.

 

They’re getting scarily good at this, Clarke thinks as Lexa’s hand finds her hip just in time with her hooking her leg around her waist. Then, Lexa’s lips find her pulse point as she rocks into her, gently but firmly, and all she can do is arch her back and moan at the delicious friction.

 

“This okay?” Lexa mumbles against her lips, sloppy, rushed, and -- she could say yes. Because God, this is more than okay, this is incredible and she’s missed Lexa so much even though it’s only been mere _days_ since she took her, and tonight, Lexa’s eyes are a special glow of emerald and she’s not pushing her hands away when they wander and what if tonight she’ll—

 

She’s already gently pushing Lexa away when she fully realizes what she’s doing. “We should… we should probably slow down,” she says quietly, not letting herself drop her gaze. Because of that, she doesn’t miss the way Lexa’s eyes soften for a fraction of a second.

 

 

“If that’s what you want.”

 

“I think that’s what we both need,” she tells her with a small smile that grows after Lexa gives her a tiny nod. She watches her take a step back and let out a breath, running a hand through her hair.

 

“Yeah,” Lexa says. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” She sighs again before giving her a smile of her own. “You were right about a lot of things today.”

 

She knows Lexa means it in a good way, but she can’t help but cast a guilty look to the side. Unwittingly, she’s once again become the rift between Lexa and one of her people. Her brother. Her actual family.

 

A light, tentative touch on her arm brings her back to the present. “Thank you,” Lexa tells her as careful green eyes watch her. “For being honest with me, and for -- tonight. For this, too,” she gestures between the two of them.

 

Clarke’s drunk enough to allow herself a raised eyebrow and a lewd grin, and Lexa huffs. “ _Not_ that,” she utters, but her tone is warm, and there’s a twinkle in her eyes, too.

 

“I get it.” Lexa’s still touching her arm, and so she raises it so that their hands meet; and when Lexa doesn’t flinch, she releases a small sigh of relief. “You don’t need to thank me for it. I -- I want to do right by you.”

 

She expects Lexa to shut her out again. Instead, she receives a nod. “Still. Thank you.” With that, she slowly takes her hand out of Clarke’s hold, stepping back again. “Okay,” she says, with a chuckle. “I think -- now I definitely should go.”

 

Clarke knows it’s desperate, but: “Not necessarily. I mean -- it’s late and you’re drunk.” When Lexa gives her a look, she rolls her eyes. “Sorry if your ego can’t take it, but you’re kind of a lightweight when it comes to cheap alcohol.” She leaves Lexa to contemplate her words while she goes to her bedroom.

 

When Lexa sees her emerge with a spare pillow and a blanket, already in her pajamas, an amused smile plays on her face. “It’s been a while since I spent the night in the doghouse,” she jokes.

 

Clarke scoffs as she quickly makes her bed on the couch. “These are for me,” she announces. “You’re taking the bed.”

 

She doesn’t need to look at Lexa to know she’s giving her an incredulous look, so she doesn’t. Instead, she promptly plops down, sighing in satisfaction and stretching her arms before putting on a show of getting comfortable.

 

“Clarke.” Lexa sounds thoroughly unimpressed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not gonna make you take the couch in your own home.”

 

“I’m not being ridiculous. You’re the guest. You get the bed.”

 

She’s surprised when Lexa only gives her a sigh in reply and silently walks into her bedroom. She’s much less surprised when Lexa comes out carrying a pillow and a blanket. She’s even less surprised - and certainly less impressed - when Lexa proceeds to lie down on the floor next to the couch.

 

She scowls. The lights are still on and Lexa doesn’t look even remotely ready for bed - seriously, she hasn’t even taken her watch off - and this is stupid.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She hisses.

 

“Clearly engaging in a pissing contest,” Lexa replies dryly. Their gazes lock, and something sparkles in green eyes that makes it impossible for Clarke to keep a straight face any longer. Or, perhaps, it’s the sheer absurdity of the whole thing. Either way, she can feel a smile forming, and there’s an answering one on Lexa’s face, too, despite her biting her lips to keep it from spreading.

 

Next thing she knows, they burst out laughing, simultaneously. They way Lexa closes her eyes as laughter tumbles down from her lips is entirely too mesmerizing, and Clarke finds her own chuckles dying as she drinks the sight in, lip caught between her own teeth.

 

Soon, Lexa realizes she’s the only one laughing, just like she realizes she’s being watched, and the very tips of her ears burn red when she clears her throat. “Well, it appears that we’ve come to an impasse,” she says.

 

“So it does.”

 

Lexa’s smile is still there. “I’m stubborn enough to spend the night on the floor, and the couch is definitely better for my back, you know,” she points out, and Clarke knows she’s already lost this round.

 

As long as she gets to see Lexa laugh like that, she’s more than okay with it. “Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes only a little and only for show. She stands up and Lexa does, too, sitting down on the couch.

 

“Well, uh - goodnight,” she tells her lamely.

 

Lexa nods, unrolling her sleeves so she can take her shirt off. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

 

The memory of her smile follows her all the way to her bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy your read.

She wonders if Lexa’s also spent the night half-awake, fighting the urge to get up and join her. Quietly slip under the covers, hands trailing over each other’s skin as they greet each other with slow, hushed kisses.

 

She wonders, and never gets up, and neither does Lexa. Clarke can hear her little weary sighs as she tosses and turns. It could be just fitful sleep. Still. She wonders.

 

_Do you want me there as much as I want you?_

 

Morning comes too early, and with it, comes a multitude of decisions they must make. Lexa’s face is scrubbed clean, and Clarke thinks it would’ve looked young and fresh if it weren’t for the shadow crossing it.

 

She swallows the thought down and comes back to making a fresh pot of coffee. “How did you sleep last night?”

 

Lexa’s quiet smile is still there when she lifts her head to look at her. “Better than I could have. Worse, too.” The smile only grows when Clarke doesn’t try to hide the rolling of her eyes.

 

“You were the one who insisted on taking the couch,” she reminds her, passing her a cup of coffee and silently thanking the Universe when she doesn’t drop it at having her fingers brush against Lexa’s. “My bed was yours, and yet.”

 

“And yet,” Lexa echoes, taking a sip. Their gazes meet, and -- CLarke doesn’t want to dwell on it too much, but there’s definitely a sparkle in green eyes that wasn’t there before.

 

(Or - it was, but so long ago it almost seems like another life. Previous life. Happier life. The one full of lies.)

 

She drops her gaze first, instead turning to lean against the counter and sipping at her coffee. It’s a little too strong. Just in case Lexa didn’t get much sleep, either.

 

Just in case.

 

Lexa doesn’t appear to be in the mood for talking this morning, and she doesn’t want to push. She gets it, really. Last night was a nice pause. Their little break from reality. But now, it’s crushing back down.

 

She thinks if she should start that conversation, but Lexa beats her to it. “I want to come to your meeting with Lincoln.” At Clarke’s startled, wide-eyed stare, she only blinks and elaborates: “this Thursday.”

 

“Yes, I remember when I’m meeting with him. I just wasn’t aware you were gonna be there, as well.”

 

Lexa cocks her head to the side, studying her. “You don’t think it’s a good idea,” she states.

 

Clarke suppresses the urge to raise her eyebrow. “What gave it away?”

 

Lexa doesn’t reply. Instead, she shrugs and gets right to the bottom of it, obviously choosing to ignore Clarke’s sarcasm. “He is going to twist it around if I confront him without you there. That’s why I’m proposing we do this.”

 

“Lex.” She sighs, Grabs the mug just to have something to hold onto, and doesn’t look at her. “I -- I told you about his offer because that was the right thing to do. Because I never want to keep you in the dark about anything. But I -- I don’t… I didn’t exactly sign up for a family drama.” She probably could’ve worded much nicer, she thinks.

 

Lexa’s still staring at her. “I don’t think anyone signed up for any of this,” she notes evenly. Perhaps, she could’ve worded that a little nicer, too. But a little nicer is definitely a lot more than Clarke deserves, so she welcomes the sting that comes with it. Lexa sighs. Looks away for one brief second, as if gathering her thoughts. “I… If you don’t think I should be there, however, then I’m not going to go. I don’t want to force you to do this. You did your part. Now I deal with it. There’s a good chance your meeting with him won’t even happen.”

 

It’s meant to be comforting, Clarke knows that - but her heart still throbs because lately, she can’t stop attributing hidden meanings to everything they do and say.

 

_You did your part. Now I deal with it._

 

“How are you going to deal with it?” She finds herself asking Lexa, who only shrugs and finishes her coffee.

 

“I’ll confront him about it. Try to see his reason and try to get him to see mine.” The corners of her lips slowly inch upwards. “Be as direct as possible.” Complete opposite of what Lincoln’s been doing.

 

Complete opposite of what they’ve been doing. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. Sounds good. I just -- I’m not saying I don’t want to do that for you, because--” _I’d do that and a million other things if it meant you’d-- “_ \-- I just don’t think it’s a good idea to keep scheming behind each other’s backs.”

 

Lexa’s nod is slow and thoughtful. “Yes,” she says. “Yes. Maybe you’re right.”

 

She hopes so. God, she hopes so.

 

//

 

Lexa leaves quickly after that, and now Clarke doesn’t have anything to distract her from her thoughts. She texts Raven, but her friend is busy preparing for her upcoming job interview. She didn’t even _know_ Raven was looking for a new job.

 

Now, she’s alone and feeling guilty both for being a terrible friend and a terrible almost-girlfriend. Or, well - ex-girlfriend turned almost-girlfriend. Will it ever be easy to figure out what Lexa and her are to each other?

 

(She sincerely doubts the word _easy_ will ever be applicable to them.)

 

Lexa leaves, and she stays, and she thinks. Sometimes, it seems that’s all she ever does. Ironically enough, that’s also what she hates the most - at least lately. Thinking in circles has never done anyone any good. She’s just driving herself insane.

 

Having two finals to go through next week is a distraction enough, though, so she sighs and gets to it. Sometimes, she forgets she’s still studying. Between working at the hospital and visiting her dad and -- and, well, Lexa…

 

While she tries to concentrate on her assigned readings, her mind inevitably comes back to her. How drained she looked this morning, even though she’s tried not to let it show. Her face, sunken and sad. The way she smiled at her - soft, but tired.

 

Clarke might have a lot on her plate with her studies and her father, but Lexa - Lexa runs a fucking corporation. And Clarke doesn’t know if she has people helping her; if her business is doing good; if Lexa herself is satisfied with her job. They never talk about it, for various reasons. Mostly because Clarke doesn’t feel like she has a right to ask Lexa about all of these things.

 

But - does Lexa have _anyone_ to ask her about these things?

 

She thinks about Lincoln next. The only family Lexa has left going behind her back. Just how deeply did that hurt? She thinks she can imagine, but she doesn’t _know_ because she’s never asked. She turned Lexa’s world upside down, provided her with a distraction last night, and then -- she didn’t even agree to help her when she asked.

 

She remembers wishing she wants to be someone who deserves Lexa’s love. What she wants to do and what she’s actually doing are two completely opposite things.

 

Just when Lexa needed her, she went and—

 

Her phone’s already in her hand before she can fully think it through. Lexa picks up on the first ring, and she sounds breathless and concerned.

 

“Clarke? Is everything okay?”

 

“I -- yes.” Not really, no. “I just wanted to tell you that I thought about it, and… I think you were right. I do need to be there when you talk to Lincoln. So if you still want to come to our meeting this Thursday…”

 

She hears some shuffling before Lexa sighs. “You’re uncomfortable doing it, so we won’t do it.”

 

Lexa’s voice sounds final. That might be one of the reasons Clarke pushes. “I’m okay with it. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have called.” She pauses, letting Lexa muse over her words before speaking again. “I want to do it. I -- I need to.”

 

Lexa doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Clarke almost worries she’s hung up on her. Or -- she could be busy right now. She never asked her if she could talk. What if she’s with someone?

 

She locks her jaw, willing the thought away and concentrating on Lexa’s voice when she speaks up.

 

“Okay,” she simply says. “As long as you’re sure you want to do this.” Another pause. Then, Lexa clears her throat. “Thank you.”

 

“That’s not something you should thank me for.” She revels in the quiet smile she hears in Lexa’s voice when she replies.

 

“Still. I will see you this Thursday.”

 

Clarke barely catches an untimely _I love you_ when they say their goodbyes, and she whispers it to the dial tone, fingers clutching the phone to her ear.

 

//

 

She tries not to dwell too much on the fact that Lexa doesn’t seek her out till Thursday. (Of course, the thought is constantly there, in the back of her mind - but as soon as questions like _is she still mad at me? was she mad in the first place?_ start piling up, she chases them away. Or tries to. At least she can say she’s tried.

 

She can say that about a lot of things.

 

Between doing her best to catch up on her studying in time for finals and tending to her father, she doesn’t really have the opportunity to let those thoughts interfere with her pretending to be a functional adult, and she’s grateful for that.

 

Her dad is a little pale, still, but he’s doing good. Great, as he claims when he’s not shooting her worried looks she pretends not to notice. And he doesn’t push.

 

“You okay, kiddo?” He asks her once.

 

She gives him a smile. “I’m great.” Then, the smile grows a little more genuine. “You should stick with that. Kiddo,” she clarifies when he gives her a puzzled look. “I like _kiddo_.”

 

“Sure thing, pumpkin,” he says, and laughs when she throws a napkin at him.

 

With him, she almost feels like her old self. Almost. The problem is, she’s not sure who her old self was; never mind who she is now.

 

And Thursday - Thursday comes way too quickly, and goes about as well as she’s envisioned it going. Which is not at all.

 

Lincoln looks impeccable and unimpressed when she sits down in front of him at the same cafe they saw each other last. “Hello, Miss Griffin. You’re late.” Not that late, she wants to snap, but bites her tongue to stop herself from blurting it out. She is about to make him hate her even more. No need to add to that by being rude. Lexa’s waiting outside. She agreed to give Clarke five minutes to prepare Lincoln for what’s about to happen, despite “not seeing much sense in it.” But Clarke does. Doing the right thing isn’t limited to only one person or moment.

 

“Hi, Lincoln.” Calling him Mr. Jones never seemed right. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m also sorry about something I did, but it was -- right.” She says that more for her own benefit - to remind herself that for once, she’s not completely in the wrong.

 

Lincoln’s face hardens, just barely, under his stoic mask. “I do believe we have a different understanding of what right means,” he doesn’t miss an opportunity to slip a jab in. She ignores that.

 

LIke a bandaid, she tells herself. “I was never going to agree to your offer. I told her everything.” The only response she gets is a blink, so she continues. “She was the one who asked me to call you.” Her tone is even. A little dry. Inside, she feels a storm happening as Lincoln lets out a small sigh and leans back in his chair never taking his eyes off her.

 

“Well. Knowing my sister, she’s about to walk in,” he says, beating her to the punch right as she was about to mention that.

 

Clarke nods and doesn’t say anything, because -- there’s no point saying anything. Lincoln nods, too. Gives her a wry, grim smirk before looking over her shoulder and nodding again, as if pleased with himself to have made the correct assumption. She need to turn back to know Lexa’s walking towards them.

 

She feels Lexa’s presence a second before she hears her clipped voice. “Hello.” She kind of envies Lexa’s ability to fit so many things in such a small word.

 

Lincoln’s still smiling that weird grin, and it looks so out of place on his face. He holds his sister’s gaze for a beat before glancing back at Clarke. “Have I mentioned you’re… surprising?”

 

She makes herself look him in the eye. “I don’t think so, no.”

 

“Well played, Miss Griffin.” He stands up, but Lexa steps closer, and now Clarke can see her. The urge to spring to her feet and - touch her, hold her, soothe her - do _something_ is unexpectedly strong, and Clarke grips the edge of the table to try and stable herself.

 

Lexa’s voice is cold. “I believe you owe me an explanation.”

 

Lincoln briefly purses his lips. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore.” He looks around. “Do you really want to do this here?”

 

“I want to do this _now._ ” The cut of Lexa’s jaw is angry and sharp. “Once and for all.”

 

He sighs. “I think we’re done here, Miss Griffin,” he says, not looking at her. Clarke only nods, about to stand up, when Lexa speaks again.

 

“She’ll decide that for herself.”

 

Lincoln’s grin grows disbelieving. Then, darkly accepting. “Right. Of course.” Lexa’s hand curls in a fist, and Clarke practically jumps to where they are standing, fingers grazing Lexa’s arm before she can hold herself back.

 

“I’ll go,” she lets them know quietly. “It’s okay, Lexa. I’ll go.”

 

For a long, tense moment, no one says anything. Then, Lexa nods, and Clarke doesn’t wait for her to speak when she turns and leave.

 

“Goodbye, Miss Griffin!” Lincoln calls after her, and she shakes her head as she presses a hand to her chest and walks faster. Faster and faster until she’s almost running to the hospital, her stomach in tight knots. She almost knocks another intern over, and barely mutters a quick, distracted apology on her way to the restroom. There, she finally stops. Takes several shallow breaths and listens to her pounding heart.

Nausea is quick and strong as it washes over her, and she pushes her way into a stall, emptying her stomach. All she had for breakfast was toast that she forced herself to eat, and it hurts when she heaves a couple of times after throwing up, clutching the toilet.

 

 _Well,_ she thinks darkly to herself as she slumps against the wall next. _At least I know for sure I’m not pregnant._

 

//

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“You already said that.”

 

Raven shakes her head. “Well, I’m gonna say it again. Holy shit.”

 

Clarke sighs, rubbing her forehead. She just -- she just couldn’t do this alone anymore. She had to tell someone. Someone who’s not her slowly recovering father.

 

Her friend stares ahead as they sit on the couch. “Damn. I mean,” she glances at Clarke, “I’m gonna go into a caring, thoughtful best friend mode any second now, but I just need a moment to process it all. Because - damn.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Clarke mutters.

 

“Has she called you yet?”

 

“No.” It’s been a day, and Lexa’s gone silent. She can’t blame her for that, really. It’s a lot to deal with. She’d probably need some space, too.

 

(Occasionally, Clarke wonders if that space is occupied by someone else, but she can’t -- she just can’t think about that right now.)

 

“Man. I -- this is kind of a mess.”

 

“ _Kind of,_ ” Clarke scoffs.

 

“Your life is definitely more interesting that mine,” Raven tries, nudging her and giving her a tentative grin she forces herself to return.

 

“Yeah, and we spend too much time talking about it. I’d rather we talked about yours.” She means that, too. Second part of the reason she called Raven. Lately, it’s like -- it’s like she hasn’t seen her for ages. Really seen her.

 

“Sure.” Raven nods. slowly. “Sure. Right after I point some things out to you.”

 

Clarke just spreads her arms, as if saying _go at it._ Maybe Raven’s right. Maybe she does need a second opinion. And, as usually, with Raven she doesn’t have to wait long.

 

“Lexa’s kind of an asshole.” Raven must see the look on her face because she immediately puts her arms up. “Look, I’m just saying -- I mean, this right there,” she gestures at Clarke who’s staring at her. “You look like you’re ready to tear me apart. That’s not healthy.”

 

Clarke tries to school her features into a more neutral expression. “I’m not following.”

 

Raven sighs. “The whole situation is -- it’s a fucking mess. But… I don’t know. To me, it kinda seems like she’s using you.”

 

Clarke frowns. “Did you forget what I’ve done?”

 

“That’s the thing, though,” Raven says, turning so she faces Clarke fully, and her dark eyes are serious and worried. “It doesn’t give her the right to use you.”

 

No. That’s ridiculous. “She’s not using me. Everything is mutual.”

 

“Is it? I don’t mean consent, Clarke. I mean -- emotionally.” When Clarke doesn’t say anything, she lets out an agitated sigh. “Your guilt is eating you alive, dude. The way you talk about her, and the way you talk about yourself! She can do no wrong, and you’re pure evil. But that’s not how it is.”

 

She scoffs. “I know that. I don’t think I’m pure evil.”

 

Raven’s stare is sharp. “You don’t? Cause to me it seems like you’re lying to yourself. And that’s another thing. Why do you keep seeing her?”

 

She doesn’t really have an answer to that. At least not one that would refute Raven’s claims, so she shrugs and drops her gaze to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her friend nod.

 

“She’s stringing you along. And… you’re -- you’re letting her. You’re letting her walk all over you.” Raven’s tone grows gentle, but Clarke still snaps her head up to glare at her. She sighs again. “See? One bad word, bad implication about her, and you’re ready to pounce. Although I don’t think Lexa’s a bad person. I don’t think she’s doing that on purpose, you know.” She pauses. “ _Punishing_ you. It could be on a subconscious level. But I think -- I think that’s exactly what’s happening.”

 

“I think you’re confusing physics with psychology,” Clarke says, more dryly than she’s meant to.

 

Raven waves her off. “I’m awesome at everything,” she quips, before growing serious again. “Think about it, though. Really think about it. Aren’t you willing to do anything to earn her trust back?”

 

“Yes,” the response is immediate and sure. “Yes, because -- did you forget what I’ve done to her?”

 

Raven, however, is already shaking her head. “That’s not how it works, Clarke,” she points out. “That’s not healthy at _all_. Say,” she scoots closer, “would you let her kick your father out from the hospital? Or kick him off the program if he were still in it?”

 

She scowls. “It’s not about him.” Anymore.

 

Raven’s wry smirk is suddenly unpleasant. “Then I must’ve actually forgotten how this whole thing started.”

 

She doesn’t want to get into a fight with her best friend. She doesn’t. “I can’t make decisions for him.”

“Yeah,” Raven nods. “Except you already did.”

 

There is a tiny voice inside her head. Or -- a weak alarm going off. Something set off by Raven’s words.

She ignores it and leaps to her feet. “We’re not doing this.” Her voice is suddenly sharp. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”

 

“Maybe not tonight,” Raven agrees, surprisingly easy. “But someday, you’ll have to, or…” She stands up as well, catching Clarke’s elbow as she tries to walk away, and turning her so she looks at her again. “...or you’ll fade away, okay?” Clarke doesn’t try to wrestle her arm out of Raven’s grip. “I -- please, Clarke. Just think about it. For now, you can forget this happened, but -- later. I just... “ she stops, swallowing hard and letting go of her arm. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

The genuine anguish in her friend’s voice is what roots her to the spot. Cools her down. She nods, suddenly drained of her anger. “I know,” she whispers. “I… I will. I know I -- thank you.”

 

Raven nods back, and they don’t talk about it again for the rest of the night.

 

//

 

She’s been surprised by many things this past year. Her father’s accident, Finn’s brilliantly insane idea for a scheme, Lexa… Lexa. But when she’s greeted by a smirking Anya Chand at the hospital entrance, surprise is definitely the last thing on her mind.

 

She sighs. “Hey, Anya.”

 

“You know,” Anya starts right away, walking with her and not letting her slow down, “I’m still thinking whether it’s another brilliant scheme or a heartfelt attempt at winning her back.” Well. She’s never had a frenemy before. This is -- weird. She’s not sure if it’s a good weird or a bad one.

 

“If I tell you it’s the latter, will you believe me?”

 

Anya’s sly smirk grows. “I’m still thinking.”

 

Clarke can’t hold back a short laugh. In a way, she’s almost happy to see her. “Right. So is that what brings you here? Scientific curiosity?”

 

“Maybe.” Of course. With Anya, she doesn’t expect a straight answer. Perhaps, with Anya, the straight answer is right there, woven into cryptic remarks and crafty words. Perhaps. “How is your father?”

She throws a quick glance at Anya. “Good. He’s -- doing good.”

 

“Don’t be so surprised,” Anya chides her with a patronizing chuckle. “I genuinely want your father to get better. He seems like a good man. I’m assuming you take after your mom?”

 

Clarke doesn’t even try to hide her eye-roll. “Can I help you with something, or…” She notices the look on Anya’s face. “If you say _I’m still thinking_ again--”

 

“Ah, someone’s been doing her homework. All you, or has Lexa been giving you pointers on my body language?”

 

“You know,” Clarke says with a tight smile, “it may come as a shock to you, but you’re not as unpredictable as you think you are.”

 

When Anya replies, she sounds impressed. Or she’s making Clarke think she’s impressed. “Sharp. I like it. So no credit to Lexa, huh?”

 

Clarke sighs and stops. She maybe kinda half-hopes Anya stumbles, at least a little bit, at the abrupt gesture, but the woman only circles her and stands in front of her, the smirk still in place. “I got the hint the first time. So Lincoln told you?”

 

“Of course he did. Friendly advice: I wouldn't go near him if I were you.”

 

Clarke’s eyebrow raises at the word _friendly_ of its own accord. “That’s kind of a given.”

 

“It is, isn’t it.” Anya’s giving her one of her mildly unsettling studying stares, and she wills herself to stay her ground and hold her gaze. A tiny twitch of an impeccable eyebrow tells her Anya likes it. Begrudgingly. “Has Lexa contacted you yet?”

 

At the mention of Lexa, her stomach does a somersault, but she fights not to let it show on her face. “Was she supposed to?”

 

“Well.” Behind Anya’s mask, she catches it. The fleeting concern she’s not about to show her - but, when it comes to people you love, it’s not easy to hide your emotions. And Clarke’s stomach grows cold. “I’d stay and chat, but… Goodbye, Miss Griffin.” Anya’s about to turn and walk away when Clarke’s hand on her arm stops her.

 

And she really doesn’t give a flying fuck about the dark, dangerous stare that Anya gives her when she slowly looks down on her hand and then back at her face. “Where’s Lexa?”

 

“If I knew,” Anya says quietly, shrugging her hand off, “would I be here? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several other places to visit.” The implication burns, but Clarke doesn’t care.

 

Lexa’s upset and alone God knows where, and she’s not—

 

“I’ll come with you.”

 

“Absolutely fucking not.” Clarke would recoil at the word if she wasn’t busy freaking out. It’s her fault. Her fault, all of it, her fucking fault-- “Hey.” She’s jolted back to the present by Anya’s even voice. “If I am not too concerned, you certainly shouldn’t be, either. And when it comes to Lexa, you can trust me.”

She’d probably also marvel at Anya, of all people, semi-comforting her if Lexa wasn’t missing. But -- Anya’s right. And she needs to take a deep breath.

 

“Anya--” She doesn’t have enough air to go on, and so she chokes, biting on her lip and staring at her. Helpless.

 

Through the cracks, she can see Anya struggling with something. When she speaks next, her words are slow, as if she’s saying them with great difficulty. “I’ll tell her to contact you. I’ll -- tell her. That’s it.”

“Thank you.” It comes out with half a sob, but she doesn’t care. “Thank you.”

 

The muscles of Anya’s jaw twitch, and then, she nods; and her words are quiet. “Goodbye, Clarke.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part ii has come to an end! but don't worry, there's part iii waiting for you. 
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Lately, she’s been forgetting what sleep is. There’s also very little doubt in her mind that she’s about to fail the majority - if not all - of her classes this semester. Her teachers were willing to take her situation into account last Fall. Not anymore. She can’t exactly blame them. It’s not like they are aware her situation got worse.

 

It seems like everything’s been steadily getting worse. It’s been three days. Lexa hasn’t returned her texts or calls. She doesn’t know Anya’s number, and Lincoln -- she doesn’t even try to reach out to him. At least she’s got some common sense left, she thinks bitterly as she watches the sunrise for the third time this week.

 

And, until a sudden knock on her door, this morning seemed like any other. About to be spent worrying, exhaustingly, with dread running through her veins like  slow poison.

 

Until a sudden knock on her door.

 

Lexa looks sharp and collected when she opens the door without even asking who it is, and Clarke’s too shocked to do anything but gape.

 

“Hey.” Full lips twitch as Lexa swallows. “I -- Anya told me about running into you.”

 

Questions immediately flood her mind - _Running into me? Did she just find you, or did you spend these three days thinking whether you should be here or not?_

_Are you here only because Anya told you about me?_

 

She clears her throat. “Oh. Well -- good. I’m… I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

Green eyes narrow as Lexa gives her a subtle smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Clarke scoffs. “Right. Is, um -- Is Lincoln okay? Oh - do you want to come inside?” At Lexa’s hesitant glance over her shoulder, she tries again. “I have coffee.”

 

The smirk grows. “I do like coffee.”

 

Is that how it’s going to be? Completely ignoring every problem?

_She’s here,_ Clarke’s mind tells her. _She’s okay and she’s with you._

 

Her talk with Raven tries to resurface in her memory, but she pushes it down. “There’s plenty of it in the kitchen,” she tells her, stepping aside and motioning for her to come in. Lexa murmurs a quiet _thank you_ and walks past her, shrugging her jacket off and neatly placing it on the back of a chair. Clarke watches her roll her sleeves up and straighten her tie and -- God, she looks unfairly good this early in the morning.

Clarke mentally thanks her past self for forcing herself to shower today.

 

“Did you have breakfast?”

 

That, she couldn’t force herself to do, but she doesn’t let Lexa know that. “Yeah,” she tells her. “But, um, if you haven’t, I could make something for you.”

 

Lexa makes a noncommittal sound as she looks around. “Did you have take out last night?”

 

She blinks. “No.”

 

“Ah.” Lexa glances around the kitchen again before her unreadable stare lands on Clarke. “You’re up unusually early. I was afraid I was going to wake you up.”

 

“Oh, no, you didn’t. I -- I woke up right before you came,” Clarke blatantly lies.

 

And Lexa, being Lexa, sees right through it. Clarke realizes her grave mistake seconds before Lexa sighs and closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Is it a reflex? Lying to me?” Her words are quiet, but they cut, deep and sharp, and Clarke has to grit her teeth together so she doesn’t let out a strangled gasp.

 

“What do you mean?” It’s a losing battle. They both know it.

 

“No dishes in the sink. Just woke up, but already ate?” Green eyes open, and Clarke feels two inches tall when they focus on her, sharp and unwavering. “When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep, Clarke?”

 

And she knows -- she knows she shouldn’t say what she’s about to say. She doesn’t have a _right,_ but she’s upset and drained and probably less stable than what is required to be stable, and the words fall. Shatter on the ground between them. “Since when do you care?”

 

She doesn’t know what hurts more - the phrase or the way Lexa recoils from it, a flare of something dark flashing through her eyes. It’s silent for what seems like an eternity before she answers. “I wish I didn’t.”

 

It should be painful. But the sheer honesty of her quiet admission - and the fact that _she cares, she still cares and maybe--_  “I’m fine,” she manages to utter. Lexa’s gaze, incredulous and disbelieving, burns, and she glances away, biting her lip. “I -- this isn’t about me.”

 

Lexa doesn’t back down. “We’re talking about you, so this _is_ about you.”

 

“Well, it shouldn’t be!”

 

What follows is the kind of tense silence that rings in your ears. Louder and louder until you can’t take it anymore. And Clarke can’t. “Where were you?” When Lexa doesn’t answer, she lifts her eyes to meet hers, and -- she kind of hates how calm she is when Clarke feels like she’s about to fall apart. “What happened, Lexa?”

 

“Nothing. Anya tends to exaggerate. She… worries too much.”

 

Clarke’s smirk is wry, and feels strange on her lips. “I may not know her as well as you do, but it seems to me she doesn’t worry without good reason.” She glances at Lexa’s hands gripping the edge of the counter.

 

“You don’t know her as well as I do.” Comes her even reply.

 

She shrugs. “Maybe. Yeah. But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

 

Lexa’s quiet sigh is full of simmering agitation. “What do you want to hear?”

 

Perhaps, she shouldn’t say what she’s about to say, once again. “That you’re okay.” It’s shaky, and low, but Lexa looks like she shouted the words at her. “But… I wanna hear the truth more.”

 

For the first time since what seems like forever, this feels -- real. Genuine. Raw. _They_ feel real, and it hurts, and it’s full of pain and guilt but Clarke can finally breathe.

 

And Lexa -- Lexa doesn’t take this opportunity to remind her that truth is the least she deserves. She doesn’t snarl and she doesn’t snap, and her hands tremble, just barely, as she lifts them and tiredly rubs her face. “Then I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, and her voice is barely louder than a whisper.

 

“Because I don’t -- I don’t _know_.”

 

It happens quickly, simultaneously - they move towards each other, and Lexa’s shuddering sigh as she sinks in Clarke’s embrace is both a blessing and a curse. Lexa seems to be thinking the same.

 

“You’re so many contradicting things,” she whispers to her before their lips meet, hot and insistent, and Clarke tries not to think about the taste of salt. Or who it’s coming from.

 

She never thought kissing Lexa would hurt, but it does, and -- perhaps, that’s what she needs. Pain grounds her. Reminds her what’s real. Tells her it’s happening, and Lexa’s here, with her, and she revels in the way her heart cracks open at having Lexa sigh and gasp against her lips.

 

“I misses you,” she tells her in a broken whisper, simply because she can’t keep it in. “I miss you - _so much._ ”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer to that. But her eyes are a blazing green when she slowly pulls away, and the careful gentleness of her thumbs smoothing over Clarke’s cheeks are enough. “I -- I have to go soon,” she tells her, with quiet regret underneath.

 

“I know. So do I.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “No,” she says, stronger. “You need to rest.”

 

Clarke’s short laughter sounds weird to her own ears. “I need to not fail this semester,” she says, and there’s something bizarre about this - her telling Lexa about things that seem so mundane compared to everything. Considering everything.

 

She also mentally adds this to _should not have said that_ list when Lexa frowns and starts to pull away. “I -- are you having problems with school?”

 

“It’s more of -- the other way around.” She doesn’t miss the way Lexa tries to hide an amused smile at that. It’s quickly replaced by a deeper frown, however, when the implication of Clarke’s words sets in.

 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

A dark spark in Lexa’s gaze tells her she doesn’t agree. But she doesn’t want to be out of line, and so she doesn’t try to reassure her more.

 

“Well,” Lexa says, and takes a step back. It’s small, but it’s a clear sign that the moment is gone. Done and over with. “I… hope it works out.”

 

Clarke swallows, thickly. “Yeah. Me too.”

 

Lexa nods, and then, with a murmured goodbye, she leaves.

 

//

 

She’s late to her shift because her professor took the opportunity to reprimand her when she approached her about her final grade. In her opinion, it was a waste of everyone’s time. She knows she’s going to fail; the professor knows she’s going to fail; they both know why she’s going to fail, and they both know there wasn’t really much sense in starting this conversation to begin with. Okay, this one is kind of on her. But she can say she at least tried, the half-assedness of the attempt notwithstanding.

 

And now, her mother is also taking advantage of this opportunity to reprimand her because she’s late. All in all, it’s a good day, Clarke thinks bitterly.

 

“Clarke. Are you listening to me?”

 

She sighs and finishes putting her scrubs on. “Yes, mother,” she replies dully.

 

Abby lets out an impatient breath. “Cut the crap,” she says, suddenly sharp. “What’s going on with you?”

 

“Nothing.” Of course her mom doesn’t believe her. Why would she? Why would anyone? “Finals. I’m super stressed.”

 

Her mother folds her arms on her chest, staring her down. “I imagine you would be considering you’re failing all of your classes,” she notes dryly.

 

“That’s invasion of privacy,” Clarke points out as she puts her street clothes away, barely looking at her.

 

“That’s not the point.” When Clarke chooses not to answer and instead concentrates on tying her hair up in a messy ponytail, her mother huffs and walks towards her. The sudden grip on her elbow is a harsh jolt back to reality. “Since you’re clearly not in the mood to be an adult, I’m not gonna treat you like one,” Abby remarks, forcing her to face her. “You’ve been seeing _Lexa_ , haven’t you?”

 

She gets angry almost instantaneously. She doesn’t know what it is - the sting of having her mother grab her or the disdain in her voice at Lexa’s name. Maybe both. “That’s none of your business,” she snaps, wrestling her arm out of Abby’s grasp.

 

“Well, at least you’re not outright lying to me.”

 

She doesn’t let the guilt consume her at those words, but it sits in her chest, heavy and poisonous.

 

“Don’t you see what that woman is doing to you?” Her mom continues, getting louder with each word. “You’re not yourself, Clarke. Sometimes, I don’t even recognize you.”

 

“I’m _fine,_ ” she hisses.

 

“You’re _far_ from fine,” Abby counters. “You’re letting her consume you. That’s not healthy. Can’t you see how toxic she is?”

 

It’s increasingly familiar - this whole conversation, and that’s what stops her in her tracks. Clarke frowns as she silently stares at her mother. Come to think of it - how did she know she was seeing Lexa in the first place?

_You’re letting her consume you._

_You’re letting her walk all over you._

 

Something shifts and clicks, and the realization burns. “You talked to Raven.”

 

Abby juts her chin up, defiantly. “And I’m glad I did.” She doesn’t even try to deny it, and Clarke finally lets herself snap and sees red.

 

“Right,” she says. “I have a phone call to make.”

 

Her mother tries to stop her, but she pushes her hands away, quickly escaping into a hallway and almost running outside.

 

Raven picks up almost immediately, and her tone is reluctant. “Hey, Clarke.”

 

She realizes she’s practically shaking with anger when she has trouble holding on to her phone. She’s so mad she can’t even think of words to say. “Seriously? You fucking _told_ on me?”

 

Raven sighs. “Damn it, Abby,” she mutters. “I didn’t tell on you. I was worried, and -- you wouldn’t listen to me.”

 

“I told you I would think about it,” Clarke replies, and the bitterness of her tone surprises her.

 

Her friend snorts. “Right - and did you?”

 

“That’s not what this is about. You -- you went behind my back.” Betrayal. That’s what it is. That’s why it hurts.

 

“I’m sorry,” Raven offers, and she manages to sound genuine. Because she _is_ genuine, and that’s why Clarke has trouble wrapping her mind around this situation. Raven is the most loyal person she knows. She can’t believe she did this. “I thought I didn’t have any other choice, Clarke. That alone should be a wake up call, don’t you think?”

 

“This is _my_ life,” Clarke snaps. “Don’t you think?” Before she knows it, the words are already falling. “I don’t want you to ever mention this to me again, okay? And I don’t want you meddling. This -- it’s none of your business.” Her mother’s angry scowl and the way she spit out Lexa’s name resurface in her mind, and she grips the phone tighter, because she’s afraid that if she doesn’t, she’ll end up hurling it against the side of the building.

 

Raven’s silent for a long moment. “Fine,” she says, then, and there’s no anger. She’s -- she just sounds sad, and something in Clarke’s chest shifts, painfully. She ignores that. “I won’t bring it up. But -- one last thing? You’d never do that before. This call -- you’d never do that.”

 

Clarke tries to say something - anything - but words don’t come, and Raven lets out a quiet sigh. “I gotta go,” she tells her. “I’ll -- guess I’ll see you around.”

 

She’s so, so tired of feeling guilty.

 

//

 

After that, the whole day is a blur. The night is a blur, too. A blur of tears, alcohol and terrible, terrible decisions.

 

“My mom called you toxic. _You_.” Clarke lets out a disbelieving laugh, but it comes out as a sloppy giggle and -- for fuck’s sake, she doesn’t _giggle._ Except, apparently, when she’s shitfaced. “After what I’ve done, _you’re_ toxic. Can you believe that?”

 

“I can,” comes Lexa’s quiet reply. She woke her up. And she’s sorry. She’s so fucking sorry about so many things, yet she keeps doing them over and over again. “Clarke, let me come help you.”

 

Clarke lets out a scoff, and it’s sloppy, too. “I’ll have sex with you if you do,” she warns. Actually -- it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “Sure. Come over.”

 

Lexa sighs. “We’re not going to have sex. You’re drunk.”

 

She shrugs and almost trips over her coffee table when she tries to sit down on the couch. “Then I’ll just cry a lot.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Lexa replies immediately. “I -- it sounds like you need help.”

 

“Are you alone?”

 

Lexa takes some time to answer, clearly thrown by the sudden change of topic. “Yes,” she says slowly. “I am.”

 

“Ah,” Clarke says, and tried not to spill her whiskey when she places the glass on the table. The amber liquid sloshes around, and it stings when it makes contact with a fresh cut on her finger. “How many times have you been alone when I called you?”

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, and her voice is almost pained. “I…”

 

“Is she nice? I bet she’s nice,” Clarke interrupts. “Kate. She seems nice. She’s probably better than me. I mean - of course she’s a better person. But she’s -- in bed. She’s probably better than me. Is that why you don’t let me touch you?”

 

“...No,” Lexa’s whisper definitely sounds pained. “That’s not why.”

 

“Do you let her touch you?”

 

“I don’t think we should be talking about that right now.” There’s a rustling sound, and then Lexa speaks again. “You should try and go to sleep, Clarke. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

She nods, forgetting Lexa can’t see her, and she does it a little too enthusiastically than she probably should in her current state. A strong wave of nausea is almost expected as it makes her double over. She closes her eyes, but that makes it even worse. Everything starts to spin, faster and faster and faster, and she’s never been more amazed with herself when she makes it to the bathroom just in time to empty the contents of her stomach.

 

Her phone falls to the floor in the living room, and Lexa’s voice is distant and weak as she calls after Clarke.

 

//

 

This morning, like many mornings this past year, is harsh and unforgiving; and so is the light hitting Clarke’s face as she groggily tries to understand where she is. Last thing she remembers is the coldness of her bathroom tiles. And -- Lexa. Oh _God,_ Lexa.

 

She sits up, abruptly - too abruptly, and the headache finally comes, making her clutch her head in her hands.

 

“You should take it easy,” Lexa says calmly, and Clarke flinches, startled. The movement brings more pain, and she quietly groans.

 

“Lexa,” she croaks out. “God, I’m -- I’m so sorry for last night.” Then, she blinks. “Wait - when did you get there?”

 

“Last night,” Lexa confirms her worst thoughts. “You were already sleeping. I, uh -- I helped you get to the bed.”

 

If ground opened up and swallowed her whole, she’d probably say thank you.” I’m so sorry,” she repeats.

 

“I know. You told me. Last night.”

 

Fuck. “Lexa, whatever I said--”

 

“The truth.” Lexa’s green eyes carefully watch her as she stands still. “You said the truth. And it seems that I have some things to be sorry about, too.”

 

“What? No,” Jumping to her defense is as easy as breathing, Clarke notes. “You don’t.”

 

Lexa doesn’t say anything at first. She looks away, and there is a contemplating frown on her face. Clarke stays silent, too. Too afraid of saying anything. What happened last night?

 

Finally, Lexa swallows and slowly approaches the bed, carefully sitting down and looking at Clarke again. “Last night… You scared me,” she tells her. It’s easy to see how difficult saying the words are for her, so Clarke bites her tongue and lets her speak. “But it was different from that time when you came to my apartment. When I was with Kate.” Green eyes study her as Clarke locks her jaw at the reminder. “Back then, I was -- angry. Angry at you for being reckless and stubborn. Last night, I just…” She trails off, taking a pause and breaking eye contact, as if gathering all of her strength to continue. “Last night, I was afraid of _losing_ you. I didn’t know what was going through your head, and you sounded -- like you were on the brink.”

 

Clarke blinks as it clicks. “I -- Lexa, I’m not--”

 

“And everything you told me,” Lexa continues, putting her hand up to signal she wants to finish first. “That, together with what your father told me before… I’ve been thinking a lot about this. About us. What we’re doing -- it’s awful for both of us. Do you realize that, Clarke?”

 

Lately, it’s so easy for tears to come.

 

She doesn’t answer. Lexa nods and continues. “But -- I think until last night, I’ve never realized that it might be worse for you.”

 

She can’t keep silent about that one. “It’s not,” she says. “It can’t even compare to what I did to you.”

 

Lexa’s small smile is sad. “That’s the thing,” she notes. “You think you deserve this. And I -- I don’t think anyone does.” The muscles of her jaw twitch before she says the next part. “Especially not someone I… Someone I care about.”

 

“You -- care about me.”

 

Lexa scoffs. “Of course I care about you,” she says, almost angrily, before taking a deep breath and shaking her head. “No -- see? This is what I’m talking about. This is bad. Your mother is right - it’s toxic. _I_ am toxic for you. I care about you, and I think -- on some level, I _resent_ that. I don’t trust you.” Clarke recoils as if slapped, and Lexa draws a sharp breath, but chooses to push through. “I don’t think I’ll ever fully trust you, Clarke, and it’s killing me -- and you!” She springs to her feet, suddenly agitated, and Clarke’s head spins as she watches her start to pace the floor. “I don’t know how to start believing you again. I don’t know if I’m even able to. Even if… even if we started a relationship -- it’s doomed right from the start, because there’s no trust, and I can’t start trusting you again just because I’m in love with you!”

 

The exclamation rings. It sits in the room, in the air, bright, heavy, and Clarke forgets about her headache as she stares at Lexa with wide, wet eyes.

_I’m in love with you._

 

That’s not the part she should be focusing on, and, perhaps, that’s what sobers her up, but it’s still there, in her chest, spreading through her veins like liquid fire.

_She’s in love with me._

 

Lexa’s not moving, and her breathing is ragged, and she doesn’t recoil when Clarke slowly rises from the bed and walks over to her.

 

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and lets relief wash over her when Lexa doesn’t flinch at her hand on her arm. She’s a little hot to the touch, and Clarke makes a mental note to check that out later. “And I agree with everything you’ve said. Because you’re right. Right now, we’re bad for each other.” She can’t believe how blind she was all this time -- and she can’t believe all it took was Lexa saying it. Or, perhaps, she can. “But I -- there’s nothing I want more than to be _good_ for you. And whatever it takes - I’ll do it. Even if it means finally letting you go.”

 

Lexa smirks, and it’s wry and desperate. “I don’t think _I’m_ able to let you go. God knows I tried.” Her hands are tentative and trembling as they come up to rest on Clarke’s waist; when she lifts one to guide her head to her shoulder, it takes everything she has not to burst into tears.

 

“Do you really think we’ll be able to deal with it on our own?” Comes Lexa’s unsure question. Clarke shrugs, burrowing further in her steady embrace. She feels light. Lighter than air.

 

“There are professionals for these situations,” she murmurs into Lexa’s shirt. God, she smells so good. Familiar. Home, Clarke thinks, and clings to her tighter.

 

“You’d be willing to seek professional help?” Lexa asks, surprised.

 

She nods. “Anything.”

 

She can feel Lexa’s throat bob as she swallows. “That’s the first thing we’ll work on,” she says, gently, but firmly. Clarke doesn’t reply verbally. Instead, she presses a small kiss to Lexa’s chest, and nods.

 

Whatever it takes.


	15. part iii chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to make part iii a part of this work since i didn't want to lose readers. so i'll just continue to update this work. 
> 
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_This is going to be interesting,_ Dr. Grant thinks as she studies the couple in front of her. They are visibly - and equally - nervous. Their hands are clasped together in their laps, and their legs are crossed. The brunette woman appears more at ease, but Dr. Grant has seen and treated enough patients to know when to look for other signs. The clench of her jaw and the shifting of her gaze tell her more than her seemingly relaxed pose.

 

She watches the blonde woman steal glances at the brunette, every so often, and it doesn’t take a genius - or someone who graduated on top of her class - to figure out she’s the guilty one. Or _feels_ like she’s the guilty one. Dr. Grant has seen her fair share of gaslit patients. But the brunette woman doesn’t seem like an abuser, and yes, looks may be deceiving, but Dr. Grant’s intuition has never failed her.

 

She gives them another quick onceover. The blonde is chewing on her lower lip, and the looks she’s throwing the brunette are increasingly lingering. Longing. The brunette is mostly staring ahead or at Dr. Grant’s forehead. Occasionally, however, her eyes meet her partner’s, and there’s the smallest smile on her lips that the blonde anxiously returns.

 

Dr. Grant wonders. It might be a cheating case; but her gut tells her there’s something more to it. Something deeper.

 

“So,” she clasps her hands together, giving the pair a warm smile. They tentatively return it. “Miss Woods and Miss... Griffin, is it?” She doesn’t miss the way the blonde woman flinches at her name.

 

“Just Clarke is fine,” she rushes to correct her. Dr. Grant nods.

 

“Of course.” She expectantly looks at Miss Woods next.

 

“Lexa. It’s, uh, Lexa.”

 

“Okay, good,” Dr. Grant nods again, allowing her smile to grow. “Nice to meet you both, Clarke and Lexa. My name is Katherine. I’m very glad we decided on first name basis right away. It helps with establishing trust between us.”

 

The way their eyes widen before they glance at each other and look away at the word _trust_ tells her everything she needs to know. It doesn’t particularly matter under what circumstances their trust was broken. All she cares about is that it is, and they are here to repair it. She only hopes it’s not too late.

 

“Why don’t we start with you telling me a little about yourselves?”

 

Lexa sits up a little straighter on the couch. “Would you like to go first?” She quietly asks Clarke, who looks mildly nauseous at the thought.

 

“Oh, no, it’s okay, you can go first.”

 

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t mind--”

 

“Yes, I’m--”

 

Dr. Grant hides a grin when they stop, abruptly, and try to conceal their own amused smiles. Clarke’s eyes catch Lexa’s, and smiles fade, little by little, as they hold each other’s gazes; and all Katherine can think is _poor kids._ Before her, she sees hurt, desperation, guilt, and underneath it all, love being exchanged with a mere glance, and -- she really, really hopes it’s not too late.

 

“Why don’t we go clockwise, if that helps?” She watches both women blink and slowly look away to concentrate on her. For a second, she feels almost guilty for intruding on what looked like a private moment. She has a feeling they have those often. “Lexa, let’s start with you.”

 

“I’m not very good at talking about myself,” Lexa says quietly. And -- Dr. Grant noted that before, but it becomes more and more prominent with each second. Miss Woods is a strikingly beautiful woman, from the sharp cut of her jaw to the brilliant green of her eyes. But then again, so is Clarke. They make quite an eye-catching couple.

 

“Me neither,” Clarke agrees.

 

Katherine goes to say something, but Lexa quickly intervenes, her gaze cool and collected. “If you don’t mind, Dr. Grant, I’d rather we skipped ice breaking exercises.”

 

She really is beautiful, Dr. Grant thinks as she studies her stoic face. And cold. Or, rather, she wants to seem cold, and Dr. Grant is sure she succeeds. Mostly. “Of course. But this isn’t just so we can break the ice. I want to build a connection between everyone here.”

 

“It’ll form in due time,” Lexa calmly states, and her tone doesn’t leave much room for objection.

 

Katherine looks at Clarke. Clarke looks away.

 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Well, if you want to get to the root of the problem right away, I need to know what the problem is.”

 

Clarke’s quiet, humorless chuckling is startling. “Well,” she says. “That, we can tell you about.”

 

//

 

“The worst part is - she hasn’t even moved a muscle.”

 

“Lexa?”

 

“No,” Clarke closes her eyes, briefly. “No, Lexa -- not Lexa. I’m talking about Dr. Grant. She looked like she’s heard it a million times before. She just listened, and nodded, and took notes.”

 

“Well, to be fair,” Raven shrugs, popping a chip in her mouth, “that’s kind of her job. Not to be fazed by anything.” She sips from her beer next. “Have I told you how impressed I am with the two of you, by the way?”

 

Clarke sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.” She said that as soon as she heard they were attending couple’s therapy. Which was half an hour ago. Now, they are sitting on Raven’s couch and drinking Raven’s favorite beer - according to Raven, “all was forgiven” as soon as she saw what Clarke had in her grocery bags. “I just hope it helps.”

 

Raven gives her a warm smile. “The fact that she’s even willing to do this says it’s not too late,” she points out, and Clarke’s not going to lie - it does get a little easier to breathe. “So chin up, babe. You’re well on your way to being married with kids.”

 

And -- Clarke knows Raven’s being mildly sarcastic, but she’d be lying if she said the thought doesn’t give her goosebumps. She shakes her head. “Not so fast,” she says. Mostly to herself. “We have a lot of things to work on before we can even consider it a relationship. Marriage is definitely not on the table right now.”

 

Lexa is already slightly freaked out about therapy. It’s easy to see how uncomfortable it makes her. For good reason, too. Today, the entire session was dedicated to rehashing Clarke’s betrayal, and - if talking about it hurt Clarke this much, how awful it must’ve been for _her?_

 

She looked drained when they left Dr. Grant’s office. Clarke’s sure she hasn’t fared much better. And, after a hurried _see you soon,_ she quickly walked away.

 

There’s a part of her that wouldn’t be surprised if that was the last time she saw Lexa.

 

“I don’t know,” Clarke sighs, taking another swig from her bottle. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.”

 

Raven almost chokes on her beer. “Are you kidding me? That was a great idea! Might be the only good idea you’ve had in a long while.”

 

“Thanks,” Clarke deadpans. “I needed that today.”

 

“Aw,” Raven coos apologetically, scooting closer to her and putting her head on her shoulder. Clarke begrudgingly pets her. “I’m sorry. You did good. Healing’s a bitch, you know? It’ll get worse before it gets better. But it will get better. You just gotta work for it.”

 

“Yeah. Work my damn ass off.”

 

“Your damn _fine_ ass.” Raven snorts when Clarke tries to pinch her cheek.

 

“Don’t you forget it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the superior ass around here.” At Clarke’s forlorn look, Raven giggles. “Come on, grumpy pants, this,” she throws an empty pack of chips on the table, “isn’t doing it for me. I’m craving Chinese. You’re driving.”

 

Clarke groans. “Why can’t you drive?”

 

“Cause you’re in the dog house!” Comes a cheeky yell from Raven’s bedroom where her friend is changing.

 

She scoffs. “When am I not?”

 

//

 

Dr. Grant suggested they sign up for twelve sessions and _take it slow._ Naively enough, Clarke thought she’d leave it at that, for them to guess the rest. But the doctor helpfully supplied them with details.

 

“That means no sex,” she said, surprisingly direct. “At least for now. You’re rebuilding your entire relationship. From what I gathered, sex was a major part of your previous one; and that relationship was based on lies.” Clarke swallowed at that, and forced herself to look at Lexa who practically turned to stone. “That’s also one of the many reasons you should wait before being intimate with each other. But there’s more to taking it slow. I suggest you limit the amount of time you spend with each other - for now,” she added, clearly noticing the alarmed look on Clarke’s face. “I suggest having one date per week in addition to your sessions with me. Of course, it is entirely up to you. Everything is just a recommendation. But all of us need to be dedicated to make this work.”

 

They both nodded at that. Clarke remembered that from the part where they set expectations. It mostly consisted of Dr. Grant reminding them that their relationship is their responsibility.

 

And then, they left her office, and Lexa fled. It’s been several days, and there’s been no word from her.

 

Clarke’s kind of growing accustomed to her random disappearances. That doesn’t mean it’s any easier surviving through them.

 

She’s contemplating texting her when there’s an incoming call. Lexa. She sighs with relief and quickly picks up.

 

“Hey,” Lexa says, and she sounds tired, but not entirely unwelcoming.

 

“Hey,” Clarke breathes out.

 

“I’m sorry I disappeared. Work has been… insane,” she hears Lexa’s huge sigh and some rustling of what sounds like paper.

 

“It’s okay. I -- I haven’t been in contact, either. I didn’t want to bother you.” Clarke clears her throat. “And, um -- we’re taking it slow, so I thought… yeah.”

 

“I think we’re still allowed to text,” Lexa says, and she can hear a small smile in her voice. That barely-there smile, where the corners of her lips point upwards, just barely, and green eyes twinkle with mirth.

 

God, she misses that smile so fucking much. “Right,” she says instead. “Still. Do you, uh -- do you want to talk about it? Your work?”

 

Lexa sounds like she’s wincing. “I talk enough about work at work,” she says.

 

Clarke closes her eyes, clutching her phone to her ear and letting Lexa’s voice soothe her. Maybe she does have a problem. “You can always trash talk your employees. Or disgustingly rich white men. I promise I won’t tell.”

 

Promise. That’s what it always comes to, isn’t it? Trusting her word. Trusting her.

 

_Will they get there?_

 

Lexa’s quiet chuckles make her smile, too. “Tempting,” she says. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer.”

 

Clarke tries to go for casual. “I’m free tonight.” She fails. But Lexa’s chuckling again, and it doesn’t matter.  
  
“That’s kind of why I’m calling,” she tells her. “To ask you if you’re free tonight. There’s a new restaurant near your place.”

 

“Oh,” Clarke says. “Or -- we could stay in? I’m making a casserole. The one you like.”

 

Lexa’s smile is palpable in her voice. “Sounds like you planned this.” And, _God,_ will she ever stop seeing hidden meaning in every little phrase?

 

She swallows the sting down and nods. “Maybe I did. Or, maybe, I just happen to like that casserole, too.”

 

“Right.” Lexa’s voice turns low and serious. “Are you -- I mean, is it okay if we stay in? I mean -- is it really taking it slow?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, but it’s fond. “I think we’re perfectly capable of controlling ourselves,” she points out. “We proved that on more than one occasion.”

 

There’s still hesitation in Lexa’s voice, but she agrees. “You’re right. Okay. I still have some work left, but I’ll be done in an hour.”

 

“Okay.” She chews on her lower lip, imagining Lexa in her office, table full of scattered papers and tie undone, hanging from her neck. She still hasn’t seen Lexa’s office. “See you soon.”

 

“See you soon,” Lexa echoes with a smile, and she’s the first to end the call.

 

Okay. Now she needs to get to that casserole, stat.

 

//

 

She may have overestimated their self-control. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t have it in herself to feel guilty about it when she arches at Lexa’s touch, panting against her lips.

 

“This,” Lexa says in a feverish whisper, their lips touching as she caresses Clarke’s sides, “this is not taking it slow.”

 

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, and pulls her down for another kiss, this time heavier than the last. Lexa’s tongue is wonderfully hot in her mouth, and she sucks on it, mentally high-fiving herself when Lexa lets out the smallest, most arousing gasp Clarke’s ever had the pleasure of hearing. She answers with a low moan, and Lexa thrusts against her, making her back arch again as her thigh brushes against her increasingly damp center.

 

“Fuck,” she breathes out when Lexa pulls her mouth away from hers, only to start raining tiny kisses on her neck. All she can do is cling to her, nails down her back as she kisses her shoulder, over and over. “Lexa…”

 

“Tell me,” Lexa half-whispers, half-begs, her greedy hands massaging Clarke’s inner thighs and causing her to moan again. “Tell me what you need.”

 

She whimpers at that, because -- Lexa’s pupils are so wide her eyes are practically black, and her kiss-bruised lips have never looked better. And--

 

_You shouldn’t be doing this, and you know it._

 

“I…”

 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers, leaning down to nibble at skin under her ear, and she shudders with the sharp wave of pleasure that rips through her at this simple act. It’s been -- how long has it been for them?

 

_Not long enough. Don’t make this mistake._

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I -- I think we should stop.” It’s almost funny, she thinks - how it physically pains her to say the words. Yet, at the same time, there’s a lightness that comes with saying them. “I’m sorry,” she says when Lexa practically deflates on top of her, her weight comfortably heavy.

 

“No,” Lexa’s answer is muffled because she’s speaking into Clarke’s neck, and Clarke wiggles a little, because she’s still _wet_ and she can feel it and it’s quickly growing uncomfortable, and Lexa’s breath on her skin is too pleasant. “Don’t apologize. You’re right.” She stays on top of her for another second, and Clarke’s too busy committing the moment to memory to catch her when she sits up. Without Lexa, it’s cold. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” she tells her quietly, trying to catch her breath.

 

“Well,” Clarke grins, and it’s wry, but warm. “Let’s agree both of us are at fault and leave it at that.” She doesn’t even know how this happened. One moment, she was opening the door and awkwardly greeting an equally awkward Lexa, and then, they are on the couch, a movie forgotten as they reacquaint themselves with each other.

 

Touches. It was all those fleeting, tender, barely there touches - and then, their eyes met, and the rest is pretty self-explanatory.

 

Perhaps Lexa was right. They should limit themselves to public places for a while. At least until this stupid sex ban is lifted.

 

God. She’s not thinking with her brain right now. That sex ban is necessary if they want to salvage their relationship. Dr. Grant is right. They are like a moth and a flame. If one can be both things at once, because they are, at least to each other.

 

She thinks she’s starting to figure it out. Sex is so much easier than talking. But talking is infinitely more capable of helping them than sex. And that’s something she should always remind herself of.

 

Lexa lets out another huge sigh. Her breathing is almost back to normal. “Yeah. Okay. I, uh -- I will do better than that in the future.”

 

“Me too,” Clarke says, smiling. “So…” she glances at the screen. “Do you want to keep watching, or is that trash talk still on the table?”

 

Lexa’s growing smile is a little tentative, but she nods. “Both of these things will put you to sleep, so why not?”

 

They talk for several hours, and it’s well into the night that Lexa leaves, and she doesn’t recoil from a slow goodnight kiss Clarke initiates.

 

She thinks it’s a good thing.

 

They’ll get there.

 


	16. part iii chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: in no way am i a trained professional when it comes to mental health. i am not a therapist, and while i do have one, it is not for couple counseling. this story is fictional, and therapy sessions described here are largely fictional, as well. those are based on research i was able to do as a novice - which is not professional nor extensive, and advices here should NOT be taken as something to build your own relationships on. 
> 
>  
> 
> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
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> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!

Today, they are more relaxed. Dr. Grant thinks whether she should take it as a good sign. Calm before storm, she reminds herself.

 

But the way they are sitting a little closer to each other and the way their fingers almost brush as their hands rest on the couch between them makes her smile in spite of herself. They return it, and it’s a little less tentative.

 

“How are we feeling today?” She asks gently. Lexa and Clarke glance at each other, and she doesn’t fail to notice how their gazes fall to the other’s lips and linger there. She mentally thanks years of practice for allowing her to remain collected when all she wants to do is grin. It’s rather typical for couples in love to immediately crave a physical connection as soon as they are told to put a temporary stop to it. But intimacy is so, so much more than just sex.

 

She makes a mental note to give them several intimacy exercises to do at home.

 

“Good,” Lexa says, and Clarke nods. “We’re feeling good. I mean - I feel good. Do you--”

 

“Yes,” Clarke jumps to clarify it, eyes mildly panicked. “I -- yes, I feel good.” Katherine gives her an encouraging smile, but the blonde woman barely returns it and leans back into the couch.

 

“Clarke,” Dr. Grant tries. “If something is bothering you, it’s okay to speak up. We’re here to listen.” She gives Lexa a sideways glance. The brunette is nodding along as she studies her partner.

 

But Clarke only shakes her head and hides behind a smile that could almost pass for genuine. “Nothing is bothering me. I’m just a little nervous, still. I -- I’ve never been in therapy before.”

 

“Do you want to leave?” Lexa asks immediately, voice quiet and soft. It never fails to astonish Dr. Grant - how gentle the woman is with Clarke after such a tremendous betrayal. The fact that they are ever here after everything they’ve been through…

 

“No, no, of course not,” Clarke says quickly. “I want to be here. I’m fine.”

 

Lexa doesn’t look like she believes her, but that’s not entirely unexpected.

 

Dr. Grant nods. “Okay. Now, last session was more introductory than anything.” Lexa lets out a barely audible scoff at that, but she decides to ignore it for now. “Today, I propose we try to dig deeper.” Clarke’s paling more and more with each word. She’s certainly sympathetic towards her, but this is necessary, so she ignores that, too. “With a betrayal like that, it’s crucial to be as open and truthful as possible. Clarke,” the blonde woman visibly restrains herself from flinching, but nods to indicate she’s listening. “Are you willing to be just that?”

 

“Of course.” The answer is immediate and sure.

 

“Good.” Katherine looks at Lexa next. “Now, Lexa… It’s important that neither of you hide anything. I’m sure you have some questions regarding the whole situation that you never asked Clarke, don’t you?”

 

Lexa’s silent for a long moment, but Dr. Grant is patient. She continues to look at her with encouragement, not taking her eyes off her a she waits for her to speak.

 

Finally, green eyes meet hers, and the woman nods. “Yes. I do.”

 

“Great.” It’s clear that neither of them agree with her statement. “I think that today we should dedicate our session to really getting everything out in the open. The wound needs to be cleaned before it starts to heal.”

 

The room grows silent once again. Lexa’s staring at her shoes and Clarke is staring at Lexa, her lower lip bitten and her face tense.

 

Katherine gives him another moment before deciding she should intervene. “If you’d like, I could facilitate--”

 

“Did you sleep with him on Christmas night?” The question is directed at Lexa’s shoes, but Clarke still flinches. Dr. Grant never quite got that expression - _‘flinched as if slapped’_. But today, just a second ago, she finally saw it coming to life, and it’s not pretty.

 

“No.” Clarke’s voice suddenly grows hoarse - Katherine thinks it must be because she’s holding the tears back. “I didn’t. I drove to him because -- I was sorry and…”

 

“For _him_? You were sorry for him?” Lexa sounds -- tiredly angry is probably the best description. She still hasn’t looked up, and her back is cut from marble - that’s how straight and unmoving she is.

 

Now she should definitely intervene. “Lexa, please remember that we should try and let each other finish before asking the next question.”

 

Lexa swallows. Moves her jaw from side to side, quickly - Katherine guesses it’s a sign of irritation. She wonders if this is the storming out part of the session - she’s been through a number of these. Thankfully, Lexa’s manners don’t let her do anything but nod. “I apologize,” she mutters.

 

“It’s okay,” Dr. Grant says. “Just try and keep that in mind. Clarke, please, continue.”

 

Blue eyes are already wet with unshed tears, but the blonde nods. “Yes,” she rasps. “I was sorry for him. I was -- I’m sorry for everyone, because I hurt everyone. He called me, and he was crying, and so I -- I drove to him, and he tried to kiss me, but I couldn’t do it.” She swallows, and her voice shakes when she speaks again. “That was when I first realized I -- loved you. That I was in love with you.”

 

Lexa doesn’t move a muscle. She doesn’t say a word, either, and Dr. Grant struggles to ignore her heart squeezing in sympathy when tears finally start to roll down Clarke’s cheeks. She wordlessly offers her a tissue. “Thank you,” Clarke whispers, and keeps going, her voice growing stronger. Dr. Grant smiles at that. “So, no. I didn’t sleep with him on Christmas night. And after that, I’ve only ever been with you.”

 

Lexa’s next question, it seems, knocks air out of Clarke’s lungs. “How many times have you been with him, then?” The words are quiet. Drained.

 

Clarke’s lips move silently, as if she’s figuring out what to say. Katherine doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath.

 

“Once.” Lexa moves her jaw again at the confession, and Clarke -- Clarke’s still crying. “I slept with him once while dating you.”

 

It’s a deafening kind of silence that settles over them after Clarke’s uttered the last word.

 

Dr. Grant clears her throat. “Lexa,” she says evenly, and the woman meets her gaze. Once again, she’s surprised at her level of restraint. Green eyes are - frighteningly - calm.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you have any more questions?”

 

She can’t see it, but she knows - guesses, more like it - that it takes Lexa tremendous effort to utter her next words. It just -- it has to. “I don’t think I want to hear the answers right now,” she states lowly.

 

And again - were it any other situation, she might have pushed. But not in this case. “Alright,” she says, nodding. “We’ll go over it the next session.”

 

Lexa looks like she wants to argue, but then thinks better of it. And Clarke -- Clarke just sits there, nearly frozen.

 

She makes a mental note to talk to Clarke after this.  

 

//

 

Dr. Grant suggesting they meet for an individual session is as far from being unexpected as it gets. In fact, Clarke’s a little surprised she hasn’t mentioned it after their first appointment.

 

(She doesn’t quite know what’s happening to her and how to fix it, but she knows she hasn’t felt like herself for a long time. Figures a trained professional would sense that a mile away.)

 

Lexa nods with approval when she tells her the reason Dr. Grant asked her to stay. “I think it’s a good idea,” she says.

 

Clarke chews on her lower lip. Lately, it’s becoming a habit. “Honestly,” she sighs, “I don’t. I’m not sure I should do this.” She watches Lexa unenthusiastically pick at her salad, expression thoughtful.

 

“Why?”

 

She hesitates for a fraction of a second before replying. “I just… Isn’t that kind of the opposite of keeping everything out in the open?”

 

She can practically see the realization dawn on Lexa; and her heart stumbles at the softening of her gaze. “I don’t think so,” she tells her, and her face is honest. “When it comes to some things, my presence might be detrimental.”

 

“What? That’s--” she cuts herself off with a sharp, disbelieving chuckle, shaking her head. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“But I am,” Lexa says quietly. “Right now, I am the source of your guilt. And your guilt isn’t… manifesting itself in a healthy way. And Dr. Grant clearly agrees.” She sighs at the stubborn look on Clarke’s face. “Look, it’s just one session. If you don’t like it, you can always decline.”

 

“No, I -- I’ll go. Of course. I mean, Dr. Grant probably knows what she’s doing more than me.” She doesn’t realize she’s gripping her fork tighter until Lexa’s gaze falls to her hand.

 

Green eyes are unreadable as she studies her. “Clarke. It’s entirely up to you. You should make that decision for yourself. Not for Dr. Grant, and not -- not for _me._ ”

 

“I -- I know that.” It’s clear to her, more than ever, that she’s not sure of the words she’s saying. Sudden dread fills her, falls to the bottom of her stomach, cold and heavy, and she clears her throat and leans back to try and chase that feeling away. “Um,” she glances at Lexa’s plate, full of salad she barely ate. “Do you want to ditch this place and go for a burger?”

 

Lexa’s relieved sigh is almost comical. “I thought you’d never ask.” But -- she might not be an expert at reading Lexa, but she’s gotten pretty good, and she knows, from the look in her eyes, that this conversation isn’t over. She’s just letting her breathe. For now. And for that, Clarke is grateful.

 

She may have a lot more things to figure out than she’s thought.

 

//

 

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing she says to her mother when she walks into her apartment. Her dad is being released from the hospital tomorrow, and this is the first time they are speaking after she stormed out of the locker room and called Raven, enraged and hurt. She thinks she’s still a little hurt. But it’s her mom. And her mom doesn’t know the whole picture. Her outburst kind of makes sense.

 

Logically, Clarke understands all of that. Logically. But somewhere deep within her chest, there’s a fire she’s struggling to put out every time she remembers the way her mother’s face contorted with disdain at Lexa’s name.

 

 _The whole picture,_ she reminds herself and grits her teeth when Abby gives her a grim scowl. “What are you doing here?”

 

Clarke takes a deep, calming breath. “I want to tell you the truth. About me and Lexa.”

 

Her mother only arches her brow. “I think I know everything I need to know,” she states. Clarke wishes she didn’t see so much of herself in her.

 

“Mom,” she tries again, quieter, and Abby lets out an agitated sigh, but stays silent. “Trust me, you don’t know _anything._ And I want -- I _need_ to tell you, but it’s so hard and -- can you please just listen to me? And, as soon as I’m done, you have full permission to scold me to death.” Her mom rolls her eyes at that, but she’s not scowling anymore. “Just -- please. Hear me out.”

 

Abby sighs, then, and there’s agitation mixed with exasperation. “Fine,” she says, turning and heading for the living room. Clarke follows her suit. “I will hear you out, but so will you.”

 

“Your speech might need a few adjustments after I tell you everything,” Clarke mutters. She’s not wrong. By the end of her tale, her mother seems at a loss for words. She just sits there, frowning, as if trying to come to terms with everything Clarke’s just told her.

 

“God,” she finally utters, and Clarke swallows. “Clarke - what were you _thinking?_ ”

 

 _Raven said the same thing,_ she thinks, and that makes her let out a chuckle that sounds damn near hysterical. “I wasn’t,” she says truthfully. “I just -- I just didn’t want him to die, mom.” By now, the impending onslaught of tears is more than familiar to her. _Feels like home,_ she thinks bitterly as she chokes on her first sob.

 

“Oh, God,” her mom says in a strangled voice as she practically catches her in her embrace. “I’m so sorry, Clarke. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t -- I didn’t know.” Her mom is sobbing, now, too, and it hurts, but the pain, just like the tears, is liberating.

 

For one long, blessed moment, they just cry.

 

//

 

“I can’t believe she didn’t immediately get rid of Jake,” Abby says after what feels like an hour of embracing each other.

 

Clarke suppresses a glare. Her mother hasn’t hugged her like this since -- since she was a teen, and she’s not ready to let go of that just yet. She can’t help an incredulous remark, though. “Mom. Did you even listen to me? She’s -- she’s a good person, okay?” The words are murmured in Abby’s lap, a little muffled, but her mom hears her, and her hand stills for a fraction of a second before resuming caressing her locks.

 

She hears her sigh. “I know. I -- that was a lot to take in, Clarke. I need some time to work on my perception of Lexa.” She pauses, and her fingers easily slide through Clarke’s hair. “You have to understand I had no idea that _this_ was the reason you broke up. I -- I thought she was playing with you. Abusing you, even.” She pauses again, and her next words are soft and tentative. “I guess she was, to a degree. Unwittingly.”

 

Clarke doesn’t have the desire nor the energy to fight with her mother again. “We’re… working on it, okay? Just... trust me. And trust _her_ , because she’s -- she’s more than worth it.”

 

Her mom doesn’t say anything for several seconds, absentmindedly brushing her hair with her fingers. Then, she lets out a sigh and gently pats her back. “I do trust you. Both of you. Although with Lexa it still might take a little more time.”

 

Clarke nods. She didn’t exactly expect anything more. “I understand.” She pushes herself up, catching her mom’s red, puffy eyes and giving her a weak, grateful smile. She probably looks just as drained. “I just want you to see how incredible she is.”

 

Abby’s hand finds hers and squeezes it. “I guess I never had an opportunity,” she says, and the look in her eyes changes so suddenly Clarke has to blink several times. She thinks she already knows what her mother is about to say before she utters her next words. “Why don’t you invite her over for dinner sometime?”

 

Great, Clarke thinks. Abby’s gone into full-on mom mode. She can already picture Lexa squirming under her inquiring stare as she passively-aggressively tries to find out what her intentions are with Clarke.

 

She can’t ignore an excited flutter in her stomach at the thought, however. _Not_ the thought of Lexa being questioned by an FBI incarnate that is her mom, but -- Lexa meeting her parents. Properly. With an awkward dinner and nervous glances exchanged between them and a quick make-out session in her old room--

 

“I, uh, I’ll ask her. I want to make sure she’s ready for that.”

 

“Well,” Abby’s smirk is amused, but not unkind. “Considering she went into couple’s therapy with you… I swear, you two are doing everything backwards.”

 

The teasing is warm, and Clarke feels like crying with relief.

 

//

 

Her elevated mood slightly deflates, however, when she goes home the next day and thinks it over. It’s not that it’s such a bad idea. But there’s a thought that’s been on her mind a lot, and she just can’t shake it.

 

Should they be taking that step without talking it over with their therapist?

 

She decides to think about that later, and texts Raven who just came back from yet another interview. It’s for the same job but, apparently, there is a ‘ _fuckton’_ of steps to go through before they make an offer, as Raven put it, frustrated. She’s nearing the end of it, however. One more interview left, and then she’s finally free.

 

“Honestly, I kinda want to be done with it at this point,” she tells Clarke on the phone, and her heart pangs at the sound of fatigue in her friend’s voice. “I’m not sure I even care if I get the job.”

 

“Of course you care, and of course you’ll get it,” Clarke reassures her. “You’re a brilliant engineer. They’d have to be stupid to let you go.”

 

“Thanks,” Raven says, and Clarke can hear the grin in her voice. “Oh, man. You’re right, I do still care. I’m legit nervous about this last interview. It’s supposed to be with, like, their general manager or whatever.”

 

“It’s nice that you’re so prepared,” Clarke deadpans, absentmindedly rearranging the freshly washed mugs on her kitchen counter. “Or whatever.”

 

“Shut up,” Raven laughs. “You know I’m gonna ace it. And, just so you know, this isn’t just me being sloppy and forgetful. They are basically a startup, and so everyone has several areas of responsibilities. That chick I’ll have the interview with also handles finances. Should be fun.”

 

They talk for half an hour more, discussing everything and nothing at all, and Clarke feels even lighter when they hang up. She missed this. Having her best friend. Actually caring for her.

 

She’s been terrible at nearly every relationship in her life lately, but that’s over. At least, she hopes so. She wonders if she should call Octavia next, but they drifted apart so much she simply doesn’t know what to say when - _if_ \- she picks up. She decides on sending her a text tomorrow.

 

And today, she wants to text Lexa, and Lexa said so herself - they are still allowed to do that. Texting is largely impersonal, so that still counts as taking it slow, right?

 

Maybe she should look that up sometime.

 

And she still needs to figure out how to ask Lexa to have dinner with her mom - and whether she should do that without talking to Dr. Grant first.

 

Fun times.

 


	17. part iii chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
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> 
> enjoy your read!

“This is… weird.”

  
Clarke couldn’t agree more. The list of trust building behaviors that Dr. Grant gave them is -- well, Lexa put it perfectly. It is weird. Granted, there are some things that make sense, and it definitely wouldn’t hurt to implement them, but…

 

“ _Transfer some of your assets into my name,_ ” Lexa reads out loud, frowning. “That’s -- unnecessary.”

 

Clarke shrugs, scanning the list with her eyes again. “Well, I mean, some couples have trust issues because of gambling and stuff,” she points out. “So that’s probably applicable to them.”

 

Lexa appears thoughtful for a moment, and she takes that moment to discreetly take her in. With her simple white v-neck and jeans, she looks so at home on Clarke’s couch as she comfortably leans back, one leg curled under her as she studies the list. Clarke really wants to kiss her, but--

 

_Is that allowed?_

 

She shakes her head. That’s definitely not what their therapist should decide.

 

Right?

 

She blinks and goes back to the list in her hand. “Not all of this is terrible,” she says. “This one isn’t bad at all.”

 

Lexa bites her lip to hide her amused smile when she glances at the bullet Clarke is pointing to with a coyly raised eyebrow. “ _Go on a romantic vacation with me,_ ” she reads, almost laughingly. “Yeah. Not bad at all. But then there’s this one,” her finger ventures to ‘ _provide funds for me to hire a private investigator to track you’,_ “which is just a little extreme.”

 

Clarke reads the words again, and there’s a lump in her throat that’s almost painful. Because -- she’s been on a receiving end of that. Not -- not from Lexa, but -- Lexa’s side. Anya. Her adviser and mentor.

 

(Perhaps she should stop thinking of their friends and family as opposite sides if she wants this to work.)

 

Beside her, Lexa grows quiet, too, no doubt having realized it’s something they already kinda done. This silence -- Clarke hates this kind of silence between them. Deafening and all-consuming and suffocating, riddled with guilt and past mistakes and regret.

 

“If I knew she was going to do that, I wouldn’t have let her,” Lexa speaks suddenly. She’s watching Clarke, and her gaze is studying and a little guarded, like she’s waiting for -- something. Clarke’s reaction. Reply. She’s not sure. “It’s not something I would have -- approved of.”

 

Clarke’s scoff comes out a little darker than she intended. A lot less darker than she feels. “She was right to do that, wasn’t she? She had a right. And she _was_ right about me.” Her gaze falls down to the list in her lap. _Tell me what you need from me_.

 

She feels like bursting with hysterical laughter.

 

Lexa licks her lips. Slightly opens her mouth, as if to say something, but then closes again and looks away, locking her jaw.

 

It’s moments like this when Clarke wonders if they actually stand a chance. Sometimes, she thinks they do. When things are light and they talk about nothing in particular and Lexa’s gaze is soft and warm. But that’s not solving anything, is it? That’s just them avoiding getting into it. Ignoring the giant, looming presence of her betrayal.

 

She clears her throat. “If you…. if you want, you can ask me more questions,” she tries, quietly.

 

Lexa shakes her head. “I think it’s better to have Dr. Grant mediating the discussion.” And if her words are a little clipped, Clarke doesn’t comment. “Maybe we should take a break,” she proposes next, letting out a big breath.

 

Clarke swallows. “Do you need one?”

 

“I do,” Lexa’s reply is quiet and tired.

 

“Okay. Do you…” Clarke trails off, swallowing again. “Do you want to leave?”

 

Lexa’s second of hesitation tells her everything she needs to know, but her words aren’t what Clarke expects. “No. No, I just -- can we talk about something else?”

 

Even if Clarke didn’t want to, she thinks she would’ve agreed. Luckily, their desires are aligned. “Yeah. Sure.” Even if it feels like them choosing to sweep their problems under the rag. Again.

 

Her eyes catch another point on the list as she puts it away on her coffee table. _Resist the temptation to push me to heal faster._

 

Whoever compiled this list together might be a weirdo, but they are also a genius.

 

“Alright,” Lexa says, tossing the list aside and rubbing her eyes. Clarke finds she’s still absolutely enamored every time she does something so… normal. So unlike the mighty CEO people usually see her as. “What do you want to talk about?”

 

The subject easily comes to mind. It’s not something she really _wants_ to talk about, but she feels it’s something she should bring up. Besides, the opportunity is right there. “Well,” she licks her lips, hesitantly meeting Lexa’s gaze. “I -- I talked to my mom a couple of days ago.”

 

“Yeah?” Lexa rises to her feet, unhurriedly, almost lazily, and her movements are so easy, so fluid that Clarke finds herself transfixed for a second. Then, the look on her face becomes alarmed. “Is everything okay with your father?”

 

She immediately jumps to calm her. “He’s okay. Great, actually.” Once again, she feels relief rush through her as she thinks about her parents. She made the right decision when she came clean to her mom about everything. Her dad came home to a warm dinner and warmer hugs. Despite all the tears shed, that was one of the best days in her life. She hopes there’s a lot more to come soon. “He was released from the hospital yesterday, and he’s doing a lot better.”

 

“I’m happy to hear that,” Lexa lets her know in a quiet voice, with a quiet smile, and when Clarke stands up, her hand finds hers with ease.

 

“He’s been asking about you. I told them we signed up for therapy sessions.” When Lexa blinks at her, clearly taken aback, dread pools in her stomach before she asks her next question. Was she not supposed to do that? “I mean -- that’s okay, right? God, I should’ve asked you first.” She drops Lexa’s hand and rubs her temples.

 

“Hey, hey,” Lexa quickly comes closer to her, tentatively grasping her hands and lowering them. “Of course it’s okay. They are your parents. You don’t have to ask my permission to _talk_ to them, Clarke.”

 

Clarke lets out a huge breath. With that breath, the last bit of energy seemingly leaves her body. She suddenly feels exhausted. Drained. Tired of being so unsure all the time but not knowing what to do about it.

 

For the very first time, she finds herself actually looking forward to her individual sessions with Dr. Grant.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa calls quietly, still cradling her hands between their bodies. “Talk to me,” she gently asks, pressing their joined hands to her chest.

 

Clarke shakes her head and leans into her, trying not to tremble when Lexa lets go of her hands to slowly put her arms around her and squeeze. Her nose finds Lexa’s neck, and she breathes in, deeply, seeking solace in her scent, fresh and familiar and soothing. Her pulse is steady and strong, and Clarke can’t help but smile, in spite of herself, when it picks up just a touch at having her lips gently touch the skin over it.

 

“Clarke.” Lexa’s smiling, too. She can hear it in her voice even if she can’t see her.

 

She sighs. “I just… I’m so afraid of doing something wrong this time,” she reluctantly admits. Saying it to Lexa’s neck is much easier than saying it to her face. Thankfully, Lexa doesn’t force her to look her in the eyes, and so she continues. Lexa’s rubbing gentle circles on her back, and that helps, too. “I constantly doubt myself, and it’s -- exhausting.”

 

“I know,” Lexa whispers in her hair. “I -- I wish I had an answer for you, Clarke. But I -- I’m also scared of doing something wrong, and I’m… I don’t know how to put it more delicately, but I’m both scared of you doing something wrong and of me pushing you.” It stings. A lot. But Clarke only shuts her eyes and breathes Lexa in again, clutching the front of her shirt. Lexa continues. “Sometimes,” she says quietly, almost inaudibly, as if admitting her deepest, darkest secret, “sometimes I find myself thinking that it’s all a -- a lie. And I don’t _want_ to think that way. I want to believe you, fully, unconditionally. I want to trust your love.” Lexa takes a step back, and Clarke barely stops herself from choking on a sob, but green eyes find hers, and there’s a thumb caressing her jaw as Lexa cups her face in her hand to make her meet her soft gaze. “I think I trust it here,” she whispers, putting her hand on her chest. “I just need my head to catch up to my heart.”

 

Clarke nods, and sobs, and meets Lexa’s lips halfway.

 

//

 

“Hi, Clarke.” Dr. Grant is as pleasant as always, and her smile is constantly warm. It doesn’t feel fake, either. It could be, Clarke thinks. But, if it is, she has to give props to the woman. She creates a perfect illusion. Every time they meet, she finds herself wanting to believe Katherine Grant _cares._

 

“Hi,” she quietly replies, sitting on the couch in front of her.

 

“How are you today?”

 

She forces herself to smile. “Good.” _Been better, definitely._ There’s just something about being alone with Dr. Grant. It has nothing to do with her personally. She thinks they could actually be good friends outside of this, the fact that Dr. Grant is the same age as her mother notwithstanding. This unsettled feeling in her chest has everything to do with Dr. Grant’s occupation.

 

She feels like she’s broken and Dr. Grant is there to fix her - and she can only do that by poking around in her brain. And that, going by description alone, can’t be much of a pleasant ordeal.

 

Is there even such a thing as _pleasant_ ordeal?

 

Dr. Grant nods. “Glad to hear that. Now, Clarke,” she leans closer to her, putting her notepad away. “I propose we take it easy tonight. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

 

//

 

“And we just talked.”

 

Lexa nods at that, a thoughtful expression on her face as she finishes pouring wine for Clarke. “And -- how did that make you feel?”

 

Clarke gives her an amused look. “That’s _such_ a cheesy line,” she comments with a light chuckle. Lexa flushes, having realized what she just said.

 

“I didn’t really think anything of it,” she says, with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. That _was_ cheesy.” Then, her gaze grows curious. “Did she use that line on you?”

 

Clarke smiles. “No, but she did ask me about my parents. At first, I found that disappointing. That’s some lazy psychology.” Is it wine, or is Lexa’s smirk growing flirtatious?

 

By mutual agreement, they decided that their previous date wasn’t really a date since they were “studying” for their upcoming appointment with Dr. Grant, and so tonight they are having an actual date. Clarke’s pretty sure Lexa’s as aware as she is that it’s the flimsiest excuse ever, but she’s not complaining. And it’s nice to know that Lexa wants to see her as much as she does.

 

Lexa takes a small sip of her wine. “Well, given our situation, I’d say she had no other choice,” she comments. “What else did you talk about? I mean -- if you’re okay with sharing,” she hurries to add.”

 

“Well,” Clarke drawls, sipping some of her wine as well. “Given that I was the one to bring it up…”

 

“Right.” Lexa’s bashful smile stirs a pleasant wave in her lower belly, and she reaches for her glass again, this time gulping down a hefty amount.

 

“We didn’t really talk about anything in particular. Just -- me. My life. School. Stuff like that. You didn’t even come up.”

 

“I guess she really is all about taking things slow,” Lexa quips, and if her fingers grasp the glass a little tighter, Clarke doesn’t comment.

 

She won’t deny it - this celibacy Dr. Grant imposed on them has been harder and harder to deal with. Especially when she’s around Lexa. Especially when Lexa is looking at her like that, eyes sparkling and hooded, with a small barely-there smile playing on her lips. Lips she wouldn’t mind nibbling at.

 

Clarke closes her eyes briefly, shaking her head with a chuckle. And, of course, Lexa notices. “What?” When Clarke opens her eyes, but doesn’t reply, Lexa asks again, her smile growing bigger. “What?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just -- we’re really terrible at taking things slow, aren’t we?”

 

Lexa’s sigh is amused. “We’re still managing,” she says, with a light chuckle. “I think we’re getting better. No matter how… not very bearable it is.” Her gaze flicks down to Clarke’s lips, for a fraction of a second, and then soft green eyes meet hers.

 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes. “We’re getting better.”

 

They finish their dinner in silence, and for the first time in a long while, it’s a comfortable one.

 

//

 

“Okay,” Lexa says when they put the dishes away and sit on the couch. “You pick first.”

 

Clarke glances down at the list of intimacy exercises Dr. Grant gave them. The woman really does love her lists, she thinks to herself. “Um. Prolonged eye contact?” She looks back at Lexa, her expression mildly incredulous. “How would that help?”

 

Lexa shrugs. She took off her tie after dinner, and now she reaches up to pop another button of her collar open, revealing her delicious neck. Clarke blinks. Maybe they should stop drinking any amount of any alcohol around each other till their celibate period is over. “Eye contact builds trust.”

 

Clarke doesn’t find it very believable, and it must show on her face, because Lexa frowns a little. “Do you want to choose something else?”

 

Her gaze falls to the next item. _Fall asleep holding each other._ She immediately glances up. “No, I -- I’m good,” she manages to say. “I mean, I’m good with eye contact.” She just -- she really doesn’t trust herself with lying next to Lexa barely dressed right now.

 

Lexa chooses not to comment on her stuttering. “Okay. Is there any time frame?”

 

Clarke shakes her head no without looking at the list again. “I think that’s something we decide on ourselves. Whatever we’re comfortable with.”

 

Lexa arches an eyebrow, and -- that’s definitely flirtatious. “And what are we comfortable with?”

 

 _Not a lot,_ Clarke thinks with a sigh. “I say three minutes? Just to start us off.”

 

Lexa’s as stoic as ever, but Clarke can tell she’s just as unsure of it as her. “Sure.”

 

//

 

They set the timer and both look up at the same time; and Clarke wonders if Lexa’s breath caught in her throat, too.

 

She releases her breath with a small sigh. “Hey.”

 

Full lips twitch and stretch in a smile. “Hey.”

 

“It doesn’t say if we’re allowed to talk during -- this,” Clarke continues. She’s nervous. So very nervous. She had no idea how nerve-wracking it would be to simply gaze into Lexa’s eyes and have her stare back. And her eyes are -- soft and gentle and a little sad and so vibrant green Clarke finds it difficult to breathe.

 

“I think we can. If it helps.” Of course Lexa would see right through her. She’s right, though. Talking does help. It distracts her from this insane desire to throw her arms around Lexa’s neck and kiss her till both of them are out of breath. “Your eyes are -- they are so blue.” Lexa slightly flushes from her own words, clearly embarrassed, and Clarke -- Clarke thinks this is entirely too adorable. “I mean -- they are a very unique shade of blue. I’ve never seen eyes that are so blue. I’ve said _blue_ way too many times, didn’t I?”

 

Maintaining eye contact while laughing is hard, but somehow Clarke manages. “You definitely used up your daily limit.” Lexa tries to scowl at that, but her own laughter doesn’t let her. “No, but seriously - thank you. I… I love your eyes, too.”

 

This time tips of Lexa’s ears burn red for an entirely different reason. Clarke likes that the reason is her. “Thank you,” Lexa says quietly.

 

“They are very green,” Clarke says, biting her tongue in a smile, and she thinks the only reason Lexa doesn’t hit her with a pillow is because they still have a minute or so to go. Judging by her aggravated smirk, though, that’s something she really wouldn’t mind doing.

 

Soon, their chuckles die down, and the tension builds back up. The air grows thick; almost suffocating. Clarke clears her throat. “Do you -- does it feel like this exercise is helping?” she asks, mostly just to say something. Anything.

 

Lexa’s gaze grows heavy, too. “I don’t know,” she answers in a low voice. “It just makes me…” She trails off, and blinks, but doesn’t avert her eyes.

 

“It makes you what?” Clarke’s voice also drops of its own accord. Almost to a whisper.

 

“It just makes me want to kiss you,” Lexa admits.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

In all honesty, this exercise is making Clarke think and want to do a lot of things. It makes her think about them. The situation they are in. It makes her think back to the time she stared Lexa in the eye, just like that, with air heavy and tension running high through her body, wanting to kiss her but denying that want. It makes her think about the lies she’s told her - the lies Lexa never saw in her eyes until it was too late. It makes her want to cry, and to beg for forgiveness, over and over again until she has it. Until she has _her,_ fully, with no exercises and conditions and rules.

 

But all of it is hard and complicated and painful, and so she chooses to focus on the easiest of them all. Deep down she thinks -- she _knows_ Lexa is doing the same. And maybe, the traitorous voice inside her head tells her, maybe they should have this one easy moment. Just this once.

 

“Well,” she whispers, “kissing is -- okay, right?”

 

“Right,” Lexa whispers back. She’s leaning in, slowly, tentatively, and Clarke doesn’t even realize she’s doing the same until they are so close she can feel Lexa’s breath on her lips.

 

“It could be a intimacy exercise, too. Kind of.” She’s still talking because she still can’t shake off the previous uncomfortable tension, but Lexa doesn’t seem like she minds.

 

“Kind of,” Lexa echoes. She’s the first one to break eye contact, and her gaze lands on Clarke’s mouth.

 

“Right.” And Clarke - Clarke is the first one to close her eyes and lean in, letting out a shuddering breath when their lips finally meet.

 

Lexa is soft with her tonight. At first, their mouths don’t even move. Then, Lexa gently glides her lips against Clarke’s, and her hand makes it way to the back of her neck, pressing her closer as she tilts her head and changes the angle of the kiss. Clarke lets herself be led. Her hands find Lexa’s waist, and she grasps at her shirt, crinkling the material between her fingers to try and ground herself.

 

It’s like a switch goes off, next. Her hands grow more confident as they caress Lexa’s sides and venture higher, to her back, nails digging in shirt-covered skin, and then Lexa’s gasping in her mouth and licking at her bottom lips, and Clarke only vaguely registers that the quiet moans are coming from her as their tongues meet--

 

Sharp, shrill beeping sends them crashing back down to earth. Clarke almost whimpers when Lexa pulls away, but the sound dies in her throat when she sees her eyes, wide and wild and dark.

 

“The alarm,” Lexa rasps, her voice sending shivers down Clarke’s spine. “We forgot -- the alarm.”

 

Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever hated her phone more. She leans over Lexa’s lap - another shiver jolting through her, straight to her core, when she hears Lexa’s sharp sigh at the gesture - and fumbles to grasp the phone and turn it off.

 

“Maybe we should stop for the night,” comes Lexa’s quiet voice from above. She really doesn’t want to. Perhaps that’s the sign they really, really should.

 

“Yeah,” she replies, surprised by her own hoarse voice. “Yeah, maybe,” she tries again, sitting up and looking at Lexa again. “Oh, I -- your shirt,” she reaches to straighten it as she notices the wrinkles, but Lexa stands up, tucking it back inside her pants.

 

“It’s fine.” She heaves a deep, calming breath, and runs her hand through her hair. It doesn’t look like it helps. Suddenly, Lexa looks ready to bolt. Clarke springs to her feet.

 

“Lex…”

 

“I think I should go.”

 

 _Don’t leave me,_ Clarke wants to shout, but she forces herself to remain calm, and her voice shakes only a little when she speaks. “Was it something I did?”

 

“No, it’s… It’s not. I just think I should go before we do something we might regret.” Lexa’s still not meeting her eyes as she talks, busying herself with looking around for her things.

 

“I will never regret you,” Clarke says quickly. She hates how loud her voice got - and how trembling. Everything was fine a second ago. What happened?

 

And why does it feel like they’ve been in this exact situation before?

 

Lexa stops in her tracks at Clarke’s admission. “Clarke,” she says. Almost begs. _Let me go,_ she hears in her tone. But she can’t. She just can’t. If there’s one thing she’s sure of, it’s that if Lexa leaves now, she won’t come back. _They_ won’t come back.

 

“Stay. Please.” She grabs the list off the coffee table. “We can try something else. Or we could watch a movie. Or go for a walk. Or… something.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lexa says quietly. “ _Something_.”

 

“Lex. Talk to me. _Please._ ” She slowly reaches for Lexa’s hand. “Whatever you have to say, I won’t be upset, or offended. I’m always ready to listen to you.” When Lexa doesn’t reply, she steps closer. “You don’t have to look at me if that helps.”

 

Ironically enough, that’s what makes Lexa look at her, and there’s a fading agitation in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

 

Clarke tries to approach it from a different angle. “Do you remember what Dr. Grant said? Communication. We need to communicate if we want to stand a chance.”

 

Lexa just looks at her, and her expression is unreadable. Clarke tries not to grasp at her hand. She’s that afraid Lexa will simply run away. But then, Lexa’s shaking her head and trying to hide a smile. “I think I need more wine for this.”

 

Clarke sighs. “As much as I want to make this more comfortable for you, I don’t think wine is such a good idea,” she says truthfully.

 

The agitation is back, but Lexa blinks, and it’s gone. “Fine. You’re probably right.” She pulls her hand away, and Clarke drops it, certain she will leave now, but Lexa walks back to the couch and sits, heavily her face suddenly weary. Clarke cautiously sits next to her.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“A lot of things.” Clarke has no choice but to agree with that. Lexa’s silent for a long moment, as if trying to figure out how to put her thoughts in words. “I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be.”

 

Clarke frowns, but before she can ask, Lexa continues. “This exercise. It’s such an easy task. It’s just -- eye contact. I’m good at eye contact.” She smirks, then, but there’s no humor. “Not when it comes to you, apparently.”

 

“But…” she seemed so calm when they did it.

 

Lexa glances at her. “I think… I think I used the kiss as a distraction, I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I felt… conflicted. I saw a way out and I took it.”

 

Well, that certainly stings, but Clarke swallows it down. “I understand,” she says quietly. “I think I went with it because I also felt… conflicted.”

 

Lexa lets out a short laugh. “I guess Dr. Grant has _problems with intimacy_ to add to her ever-growing list,” she remarks dryly.

 

Clarke’s hand on her knee startles her, but she doesn’t scoot away. Clarke decides to look at it as a small victory. “Do you want to tell me more about how this exercise made you feel?” She asks gently.

 

“I don’t want to, but I think I should.”

 

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Lexa’s gaze is reluctant, and she says: “We can discuss it at our next session if that would make you more comfortable.”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer right away, but relief is easy to see on her face. “Yes. That’d be great. Thank you.”

 

She smiles. “That’s not something you should thank me for. And, honestly, half of these things terrified me,” she says, deciding to slightly change the subject. _Open up to her, and she might do the same,_ Dr. Grant said at the end of their first session. She needs to do a lot of first steps here. “I don’t think I’m ready for _twenty minutes of tenderness._ ”

 

“Oh God,” Lexa breathes out with relieved laughter. “I thought the same thing when I read that one. I was so glad you didn’t go for it.”

 

“I really liked this one, though,” Clarke speaks quickly before Lexa has time to overthink her statement and shut down again.

 

“Which one?”

 

“This,” Clarke shows her the list, pointing at the third item.

 

“A gratitude game?” Lexa reads aloud, and the curious sparkle in her eyes eases some tension from Clarke’s body.

 

“Yeah. We could take turns, or compile a list of ten things. It’s…” _Open up to her._ “I feel like it’s a great opportunity for me to tell you why I love you. You don’t -- you don’t even need to say anything, really.”

 

“Clarke.” Lexa sighs. “This has to work both ways.” Her hand squeezes Clarke’s hand that’s still on her knee. Clarke turns her palm up, and their fingers entwine, Lexa’s thumb caressing hers.

 

“That’s what I want to tell you about,” Clarke says quietly. “This whole thing is so hard for you, and yet you push your feelings aside to take care of me when I feel _rightfully_ undeserving of you.”

 

“I don’t want you to think that,” Lexa interjects. “We both made mistakes. I -- I made you that way.”

 

“And I don’t want _you_ to think _that,_ ” Clarke says. “Easier said than done, isn’t it?”

 

Lexa opens her mouth, looking ready to argue, but then immediately closes it and gives her a rueful smile, because -- that’s not something either of them can argue with. Clarke nods. “But we’ll work through it. Both of us. Okay?” At first, she’s surprised by her confidence. But Lexa needs her. Needs her to be the strong one right now, and so she is. For her. And for the first time, she’s actually sure it’s not just her guilt making her do this.

 

“Okay.” Lexa’s still a little tense, but her hand is still holding Clarke’s. “Okay.”

 

//

 

Sometimes, Clarke regrets her decision to give Raven the key to her apartment. Only a little, of course. But still. Today is one of those days. She’s quietly enjoying her cereal on her day off when her door opens and her best friend barges in, unceremoniously dropping pizza on the coffee table and plopping down next to her on the couch.

 

“I’m in love,” she dramatically confesses to the ceiling.

 

Clarke carefully puts her bowl down on the coffee table next to - heavenly smelling - pizza and glares at Raven. “You do realize this is real life and not a low-budget sitcom? I need my personal space sometimes. I gave you the key for emergency use only.”

 

“Did you even hear what I just said?” Raven asks, finally looking at her. “Nice pjs, by the way.”

 

“Shut up,” Clarke rolls her eyes, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over her very pantless legs. “At least I have underwear on. You sleep naked.” Then, she blinks. “Wait. You’re in love? What? When did that happen? I thought you were busy stressing out about that job interview. How did that go, by the way?”

 

“Good,” Raven says. “I met my future wife.”

 

“I -- what?” Clarke quickly connects the dots, and her eyes widen. “Please tell me you’re not crushing on your financial director.”

 

“She’s not a financial director. You never listen to me, do you?”

 

Clarke shakes her head. “She’s one of your bosses, isn’t she? And -- wait, since when are you into women?”

 

Raven shrugs. “Since always. I don’t really care about gender. I just didn’t feel the need to explicitly state that.”

 

“Okay. Cool. Great. Raven, you can’t fuck your boss.”

 

A dramatic sigh is her answer. “So vulgar. I’m talking about love here, Griffin.”

 

She gave herself a promise not to drink in the morning, but she just might break it. “Just tell me what happened.”

 

“I met the perfect woman.” When Raven doesn’t elaborate, Clarke nudges her to keep talking. Her elbow might have been a little sharp, but she’s impatient. And a little annoyed she didn’t get to finish her cereal. “Alright, geez. I showed up for the interview, and they led me into her office. And then she walked in and I died.”

 

“Raven.”

 

“What else do you want me to say? I only speak the truth.” Raven reaches over and opens the pizza box, taking a slice and biting into it.

 

Clarke sighs again. “Well, what’s so perfect about her? What does she look like? What’s her name, for God’s sake?”

 

Raven takes a moment to chew before speaking. “She’s tall, blonde hair, cheekbones - man, I’d happily let her cut me with her cheekbones.”

 

“I don’t understand this obsession with people’s pronounced facial structure.”

 

Raven gives her a pointed look. “I’ve seen the way you look at Lexa’s jaw.” Clarke wisely chooses to ignore that. Raven continues. “She’s incredibly smart, and funny--”

 

“Funny?” Clarke interrupts. “What kind of a job interview did you have?”

 

“That’s the thing!” Raven exclaims enthusiastically, grabbing another slice of pizza, solidifying Clarke’s suspicion that the treat was mostly for Raven herself. “We just hit it off, right from the start. We kept drifting off topic. And I made her laugh. And I’m pretty sure she likes me. And I think she was checking my ass out when I was leaving.”

 

“So I take it you got the job.”

 

“Actually, I don’t know. She said they would call me sometime this week. But I don’t care. If I don’t get it that means I can ask her out.”

 

“And what if you do get it?” Clarke asks, incredulous. “Rae, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you met this woman, but it sounds really complicated.”

 

“Right,” Raven snorts. “Because your love life is so easy. I-- shit, I’m sorry, Clarke.”

 

She bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from lashing out, and sighs. “Apology accepted. But this is totally different, and you know it.”

 

“Maybe. I just -- I can’t stop thinking about her. I already miss her. Is that normal?” Raven’s on her third slice by now, and Clarke suddenly gets a thought that it’s not just Raven being Raven. She’s -- agitated. Nervous.

 

“I -- honestly, it sounds like an infatuation to me,” Clarke says apologetically. “But… well, I’m probably not the right person to ask, given my record.”

 

Raven scoffs. “Come on. You’re still my best friend. And I get why you think so, but Clarke -- I’ve never felt this kind of connection with anyone. Ever. It’s like -- all those books and movies, and now it’s happening to me, you know?”

 

She does know. She’s felt the same for a while, except the books and movies Raven talks about are very different from hers. Raven got fairytales. When she thinks about it, that’s the least of what Raven deserves.

 

If only it weren’t so damn complicated. “I know, and I believe you, and I’m sorry to be a killjoy. I really am. But this situation is definitely not ideal.”

 

“Nothing is perfect,” Raven shrugs. “It’ll work out. I know it will. And if it doesn’t - well, I have this week to think about her and our life together and nothing else.”

 

Clarke chuckles in spite of herself. She’s never seen her friend this dopey and dreamy-eyed. “So what’s her name? Or are you calling her Mrs Reyes in your head?”

 

“Even her name is perfect,” Raven breathes. “ _Anya._ Simple, but strong and sophisticated. It suits her.”

 

Clarke snickers to herself. She knows of one Anya who’s just like that. Except perhaps not that simple. “My experience with women named Anya is vastly different.”

 

Raven quirks an eyebrow at that. “I didn’t know you knew any Anyas.”

 

“Are you kidding?” She glares at Raven. “Who’s not listening to whom? Lexa’s financial adviser? That Anya?” She watches Raven’s face light up with recognition.

 

“Oh, that Anya! Yeah, I forgot about her. It’s hard to keep up with names when there’s so much drama.” She easily catches the throw pillow Clarke chucks at her. “For some reason I thought her name was Indra.”

 

“No, Indra is her other friend -- you know what, it doesn’t matter.” There’s something nagging at her, at the back of her head. Like a quiet alarm going off, and she quickly realizes what it is. But -- it can’t be. There’s gotta be more than one Anya who’s tall and blonde and deal with finances, right? Besides, Anya works for Lexa. She’s not running her own business.

 

Except that’s not actually her own business, is it? It’s a branch… of another big company… that…

 

Raven notices her stunned expression. “Clarke? Are you okay?”

 

“What did you say her last name was?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“Well what is it?” Clarke knows she must be scaring Raven by now, but she has to know for sure. Because while _Chand_ isn’t a particularly uncommon last name, it just can’t be yet another coincidence.

 

Anya herself doesn’t believe in coincidences.

 

“It’s Chand, Anya Chand. Why? What’s wrong with -- oh, _shit._ Do you think she’s _that_ Anya?”

 

Anya doesn’t believe in coincidences - and, apparently, Clarke was right to not fully believe she wouldn’t seek revenge.


	18. part iii chapter 4

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“Anya wouldn’t do that.” Lexa’s calm and even this morning. Clarke texted her last night, right after she left Raven’s apartment, but Lexa couldn’t meet with her then, instead proposing she swings by her place the next day.

 

Clarke pours herself more coffee. Perhaps she shouldn’t be drinking it. She feels rattled. Agitated. Anya wouldn’t be this nice to Raven if she doesn’t plan on using her to get to Clarke. She just knows she wouldn’t be. Anya is the second most meticulous person Clarke’s ever met - the chances that she didn’t run a background check on Raven and find out who her closest friend was are abysmal. And why would she be so into someone who’s best friends with her enemy?

 

Frenemy. Whatever. How does she get Lexa to understand?

 

“Okay,” she says, more to calm herself down than to reply to Lexa. “Okay. Fine. Anya wouldn’t do that. Maybe. But -- Lexa, Raven’s… she’s family. She can’t get hurt because of me.”

 

Lexa cocks her head to the side as she stares at Clarke. “And how would becoming involved with Anya possibly hurt her?”

 

“Uh, Anya gets her to fall for her and then breaks her heart?” She tries to ignore how familiar it sounds.

 

Lexa scoffs. Actually scoffs. “This isn’t high school. Anya doesn’t have time for that, Clarke,” she tells her. “If she wanted to hurt you, she wouldn’t use your friend to do so. Or your family. She would come directly after you.” She takes a small pause as she continues to watch Clarke fidget in her chair. “She didn’t go after your father even though technically she could,” she says, then, and her eyes soften, just barely. “She knew I wouldn’t do anything to her if she did. I’d be angry, but I wouldn’t do anything. Not back then.” before Clarke has a chance to ask her to elaborate, Lexa straightens and pushes the brown bag with what smells like fresh pastries towards Clarke. “Here. You should eat. And stop drinking so much coffee. I got you some green tea.”

 

Clarke looks in her cup. “I don’t like tea.”

 

“Maybe you’ll like this one.” She clasps her hands behind her back, frowning slightly as she - clearly - carefully considers her next words. “I can tell how much Raven means to you,” she says. “But you don’t have anything to worry about. I -- if you want to, I’ll... keep an eye on her. Chances are she’ll tell me about your friend herself, and soon. We’re supposed to have a meeting about the new company today.”

 

“Okay.” Clarke grasps her now-empty mug, just to have something to hold on to. “I -- thank you. I’m sorry I made you come here before work, I just -- I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got scared.”

 

“It happens when it comes to the ones we love,” Lexa tells her quietly. Clarke looks up, and their gazes meet. “I -- I should go,” she says, clearing her throat. “I don’t want to be late.”

 

“You’re the boss,” Clarke says with a smirk that feels fake on her lips. “You’re allowed to be late.”

 

“Exactly because I’m the boss, I’m not,” Lexa replies with a small smirk of her own. “Don’t worry about Anya. I’m certain this is a coincidence.”

 

Except Clarke isn’t sure if she believes in those anymore. “Yeah. Thank you again, Lexa.”

 

“Of course.” Lexa clears her throat again. “I... appreciate you letting me know about this, and… sharing your concerns,” she finishes quietly. “I know it must have been hard for you.”

 

It wasn’t that hard, not really. She was afraid Lexa might lash out at having her accuse one of her people of such a scheme, but her worry for Raven won. “Well,” she says, wetting her lips. “No more secrets, right?”

 

“Right.” Lexa’s gaze falls to her lips, but she’s quick to lift her eyes, meeting Clarke’s. “I’ll see you today?”

 

“Yes. Of course. I wouldn’t miss a session.”

 

Lexa’s lips twitch at her almost-panicked response. “I meant it as a way of saying goodbye,” she chuckles. “As in, _see ya._ ”

 

Now it’s Clarke’s turn to chuckle at her awkward wave and the clumsy way she says such a common phrase. “Oh. Well, then, _see ya._ ”

 

Lexa tries to scowl, but her grin betrays her. “You’re testing me, Clarke,” she says lowly, and Clarke bites her lip when her tongue clicks on a _k_ in her name. Green eyes glance down, to her mouth, and then, Lexa’s clearing her throat again and putting her jacket on. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I really need to go now.”

 

Clarke stands up and sees her to the door. Right as Lexa goes to open it, she places a hand on her arm, tentatively. “I trust you, you know,” she says, looking into her eyes. “If you say Anya wouldn’t do that, then -- she wouldn’t.”

 

Lexa nods. “Okay. Thank you.” Her small half-smile is sweet. The small kiss she suddenly gives Clarke is even sweeter. “I’ll see you tonight,” she whispers against Clarke’s mouth, and walks away, leaving Clarke rooted to her spot, with fingers pressed to her lips.

 

//

 

Dr. Grant seems pleased to see them, as usual. It’s almost as if she expects them to quit after each session. Clarke wonders if it’s the sign of them doing spectacularly terrible, or her own paranoia.

 

“So,” Dr. Grant says after they exchange greetings. “How are you feeling today?”

 

Lexa only shrugs, and when Clarke glances at her, she motions for her to go first. “Good,” Clarke says. “I feel good. What… what about you?” She’s noticed that Lexa’s mood always darkens as soon as they walk into Dr. Grant’s office. It’s not like she can blame her. Every time they come here, they are reminded of the reason they are here in the first place.

 

“I feel good, too,” Lexa says quietly.

  
Dr. Grant gives her a careful look. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push you, Lexa, but I also want to point out that we need to be completely honest with each other in this room.”

 

Clarke watches Lexa’s throat bob as she swallows before answering. “Alright. I don’t feel -- good.”

 

Dr. Grant nods. “And why is that?”

 

“It’s hard for me to be here.” It’s clear that it’s not easy for her to admit it, either. She’s looking at Dr. Grant, and her gaze is unwavering, but Clarke sees the tension in her body. “I know I need to do this, and I -- I _want_ to be here, but I also… I also don’t. If that even makes sense.”

 

Dr. Grant’s smile is small and sad. She leans in, holding Lexa’s gaze, and -- Clarke catches herself thinking that if this woman weren’t twice Lexa’s age, she might not be very comfortable with this. “I think in this case, it makes perfect sense,” she says gently, before leaning back. “Lexa, it feels like there’s something you want to share today.”

 

It takes Lexa another several seconds to speak. “There is something I want to discuss. I’ve been thinking about it, and I -- I think I’m ready to ask more questions.”

 

It’s not completely unexpected. It is something that Clarke completely understands. In a way, she’s relieved Lexa wants to talk about it. But it doesn’t make it easy. She _wants_ Lexa to know the whole truth. But -- knowing how much some of it will hurt her…

 

Clarke thinks there’s always going to be this phantom pain, haunting her for the rest of her life. Creeping up on her whenever she feels too happy. More happy than what she deserves.

 

“Okay, that’s good,” Dr. Grant says encouragingly. “We may start with that. Clarke, do you feel comfortable answering Lexa’s questions today?”

 

“Yes. I -- of course. I’m ready.”

 

“Alright, then,” Dr. Grant clasps her hands together and neatly places them in her lap. “Let’s begin. Lexa?”

 

Clarke doesn’t expect it when Lexa lifts her eyes and finds hers. “I know this might seem petty,” she starts with a heavy sigh, but Dr. Grant immediately interjects.

 

“There’s no such thing in this room,” she says. “You’re dealing with a really big trauma. You need to let your emotions out sometimes. As long as there’s a mediator, it should be okay.”

 

Clarke gives Lexa a curious look, and she nods at Dr. Grant before continuing. “I just -- I just want to ask this once to know for sure. So I can stop thinking about it.” She swallows. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

 

Clarke feels her eyes burn as soon as Lexa utters the question. She tries to sit straight and look tall, and her voice is calm, but Clarke can see through that, and what she sees causes her heart to break just a little bit more. Right now, Lexa feels small, and vulnerable, and embarrassed, and all she wants is to help her - and it’s killing her to know she can’t. Not yet.

 

She slowly scoots closer to her, maintaining eye contact and trying to keep her tears at bay. “I don’t have any romantic feelings for Finn,” she says, with as much conviction she can muster. “I only have them for you.”

 

Lexa nods, and she can practically see wheels turning in her head. “No romantic feelings,” she echoes, slowly. “But you do have some kind of feelings, then. You still -- care about him.”

 

Clarke forces herself to continue looking in Lexa’s eyes. She doesn’t want to lie, no matter how much the truth might sting for Lexa. “I do care about him, because -- it’s not easy to just stop caring about someone you were so close with,” she says, trying to get Lexa to understand. “I -- we were together for a long time. I might have fallen out of love with him a while ago, but he was still my friend.”

 

Lexa’s the first one to look away after Clarke finishes talking. She doesn’t say anything; doesn’t reply, doesn’t move.

 

Dr. Grant offers Clarke a tissue, and that’s how she knows she’s crying again. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Lexa. “I don’t -- I didn’t want to lie. I do still care about him, and I can’t do anything about that but wait, and -- I’m not in contact with him, and I don’t plan on seeing him again, I swear.”

 

Lexa slowly breathes in and out, with her eyes closed. She’s tense; practically coiled. Clarke knows this is not a good idea right now, but she can’t help it - she slowly reaches out to touch her, hoping to soothe her somehow. But, just as her hand is about to touch hers, Lexa springs to her feet, looking suddenly rattled.

 

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out. “I -- I need some air. I’ll be right back.” The last phrase is thrown over her shoulder as she walks out the door.

 

Dr. Grant offers Clarke another tissue. “It’s okay,” she says. Clarke wants to scream and grab her and shake her and wipe that calm, encouraging smile off her face. She takes a deep, shuddering breath to try and calm down. It doesn’t help.

 

“None of this is okay,” she rasps out. Her throat starts to get sore already for crying, and her eyes still burn. “She left.”

 

“She took a timeout,” Dr. Grant gently corrects her. “It happens. It’ll be fine.”

 

Clarke shakes her head with a bitter, humorless smile. “Doesn’t really seem like it.”

 

Dr. Grant interprets her expression the wrong way. “Clarke, you have to understand the cheating aspect of your betrayal is particularly hard for her.” Well. For all of her gentle approach, the woman can get quite ruthless. Dr. Grant doesn’t hide behind metaphors when it comes to truth. “She may not show it, but I believe Lexa has a bit of a possessive side. You hurt both her heart and her pride, and she’s trying to deal with it the best she can.”

 

“You think I don’t get that?” Clarke feels agitated. “What -- you think I’m crying because I feel sorry for myself? I don’t fucking _care_ how this makes _me_ feel,” she snaps. Then, she takes her eyes off Dr. Grant whose expression grows stunned, and look at the floor. “All I do is hurt her,” she whispers, suddenly drained. “I don’t want to keep hurting her.” The tears keep falling. She wipes them, and stands up. “I need to make sure she’s okay. I -- I can’t leave her alone. She’ll think--”

 

“Clarke,” Dr. Grant is standing up, too, and she looks alarmed. There’s a sick sense of satisfaction that briefly flashes through Clarke. The woman has finally lost her calm glamour. “You have to give her some space when she asks for it. I know this is hard, but I’m afraid you’re becoming manic and--”

 

Clarke’s already opening the door. “I have to go to her,” she states, and, before Dr. Grant can move, she’s slamming the door behind her and running off in search of Lexa.

 

//

 

She finds her standing at the window. Lexa’s looking outside, and her back is straight and rigid, with hands clasped behind it. Clarke takes small, slow steps to approach her.

 

Lexa turns her head to glance at her, and looks out the window again. “Hey,” she says quietly.

 

“Hey.” Clarke stops behind her shoulder, looking over it. It’s a particularly gloomy day today. The clouds are dark with the promise of rain, and the trees tremble with wind. Fitting, Clarke thinks. “I -- I’m sorry I went after you, but I just… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

 

Lexa’s lips twitch upwards, just barely. “It’s okay,” she says evenly. “Can’t exactly run away from my problems if they chase after me, right?”

 

Clarke swallows. “I’m your problem?”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Lexa sighs and bows her head, letting her arms fall to her sides. She places them on the window frame next, leaning into the glass and still not looking at Clarke. “Sometimes, I think I’m not strong enough for this,” she whispers. “I keep thinking about you with him, and…” she doesn’t complete her sentence. She doesn’t need to.

 

Clarke comes to stand next to her, fighting the urge to touch her. She stays silent. Somehow, she senses Lexa needs to let her thoughts out, and she knows that if she speaks, the moment will be gone.

 

Lexa’s silent for almost a full minute before she speaks again. “I feel so many things right now. It’s -- overwhelming. Exhausting. It hurts, but -- I also feel angry with myself for storming off, and for thinking all these things.” She grows quiet again, probably waiting for Clarke to say something. And she wants to -- God, she wants to. She wants to hold her and whisper her love for her. She wants to ask what things she’s thinking about, and what things she’s feeling, but she can’t. When she doesn’t speak, Lexa nods and continues. “I can’t stop picturing you with him while I was at home thinking about you. And I can’t -- I can’t stop thinking that you must’ve thought of him while I made love to you. God,” she breathes out, and her hands form tight fists. “It -- it hurts.”

 

She knows. Every word is like a knife slicing through her chest, but she can’t stay silent after this confession. “I never did that,” she stumbles to say, grasping Lexa’s forearm to make her look at her. “Every time I was with you, I was with _you._ ” She searches her eyes, her face. When Lexa pushes herself off the window to face her fully, she lets her hands slide up her shoulders, her neck, cup her cheeks. Lexa doesn’t reciprocate, but she doesn’t shrug her off, either. “I’m such an idiot, seriously -- that should’ve been my first clue. You had me hooked right from the start. You were all I could think about,” she tries to smile through her tears while Lexa watches her, face stoic and unmoving. “I think I started to fall for you when we first met. With Finn -- it’s the complete opposite of what you think, Lexa. I thought of _you_ when I was with him, not the other way around.”

 

She sees it. The flicker of _her_ Lexa in green eyes, right before Lexa locks her jaw and grasps the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep, harsh kiss that leaves them both gasping for breath. Then, Clarke leans up again, tugging her down for another kiss, immediately seeking her tongue with her own and moaning into her mouth.

 

Lexa’s the first one to pull away, resting her forehead against hers and struggling to calm her breathing. “Fuck,” she says lowly, and Clarke’s body leans into her of its own accord, desperate to get rid of that pleasantly unbearable ache pooling in her lower stomach.

 

“Yeah,” she softly replies, brushing her nose against Lexa’s neck. She smells incredible, just like always. Clarke has to repress the urge to nibble at her pulsepoint. She doesn’t think Dr. Grant will appreciate them going at it in her hallway. “Do you want to go back?”

 

“Not yet,” Lexa tells her. Her hands are comfortably warm on Clarke’s lower back. “Thank you for not leaving me alone,” she mumbles into her hair next, and it’s shy. Clarke melts.

 

“Of course,” she murmurs back. “And you can ask me any questions about -- it.” She’s afraid she’ll cause Lexa to pull away again if she mentions Finn’s name. “Whenever you want and as many as you want. And I don’t want you to think it’s petty or whatever. By the way,” she leans back a little in Lexa’s embrace, finding her eyes. “Why did you say your question might seem petty? It wasn’t at all. It was a normal question to ask.”

 

“Oh,” Lexa says, blinking. “That wasn’t actually the question I was going to ask. I mean, it was one of them, but I wasn’t talking about that one.”

 

Clarke tentatively strokes her cheek. “You can ask that one now, if you want.”

 

“I…” Lexa looks at the ground, as if gathering her thoughts. When she lifts her gaze up, there’s faint determination. “I know this question comes from the place of insecurity, and I know -- I know it’s stupid. Perhaps, even childish.”

 

Clarke smiles. “It’s okay. I’m sure it’s not.”

 

Lexa’s jaw is sharp, but her eyes are unsure. “Did you find him more… satisfying?”

 

She blinks. “No. God, no.” She suddenly wants to laugh, but she doesn’t want to upset Lexa. It’s just -- this is ridiculous. Finn was an adequate enough boyfriend, but he can’t even compare to Lexa. It’s almost scary how compatible she is with her when it comes to sex.

 

But Lexa -- Lexa doesn’t know that. From Lexa’s perspective, Clarke was laughing with her actual boyfriend behind her back. From Lexa’s perspective, this question makes perfect sense. “Hey,” she whispers, stepping even closer to her and smoothing her thumbs over her cheekbones. Green eyes are still guarded. A little embarrassed, too. Clarke hates that she’s made her feel this way. God, she hates herself so much right now - but it’s not the time to wallow in self-disgust. “ _No one_ has ever made me feel the way you do. Both physically and emotionally. And I’m not gonna take the easy way out and say you are just different from him. I mean, you are. Because for me, you’re better.” Lexa watches her as she smiles. “You’re quite literally the best I’ve ever had. In all ways.”

 

Dr. Grant appears just as her lips touch Lexa’s smiling ones. “Ahem,” she says politely. “I am very happy you’re making progress, but, unfortunately, the rules state we need to take that progress inside my office. Now, if you please,” she motions for them to go after her.

 

Clarke blinks. “Has she been standing here this entire time?” she whispers to Lexa, who shrugs.

 

“I doubt it,” she tells her as they follow the older woman. “But I do have a feeling we’re in trouble.”

 

Clarke’s hand finds Lexa’s while they quietly chuckle all the way to Dr. Grant’s office.


	19. part iii chapter 5

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“Alright, well,” Lexa clears her throat. “I’ll see you soon?”

 

“Yeah,” is Clarke’s short, almost shy answer. They’ve been standing in her hallway for about half an hour now - Lexa insisted on seeing her to the door. ‘ _It’s late, and your hallways are dark,’_ Lexa told her evenly. Clarke only hummed in agreement, deciding against pointing out the obvious.

 

It’s just as hard for Lexa to say goodbye as it is for her.

 

She glances down and then back at Lexa’s face, lightly biting her lip. She knows she’s shamelessly flirting. Judging by the way Lexa’s breath catches in her throat, she doesn’t particularly mind. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

 

Lexa’s smirk is small, but it speaks volumes. “You know we won’t stop at tea, Clarke,” she says quietly, and her eyes are vibrant green. “Especially not right now.”

 

“Oh?” Maybe she should cut it out. Probably. But it’s been so long since she’s felt comfortable teasing Lexa like this; since Lexa allowed her to get this close to tease her. It’s -- exhilarating. “And what’s so special about right now?”

 

“Not after what you’ve told me outside Dr. Grant’s office,” Lexa clarifies. Her voice drops even lower. Just like the shivers down Clarke’s back. “Unless…” She trails off, searching Clarke’s face. Not for the first time, Clarke finds herself wanting to cave so, so badly. She suspects Lexa’s perfectly aware of the effect she has on her. She’s just not aware she’s using it to her advantage sometimes.

 

And that’s the thought that makes Clarke pause, and think, and take a small step back. It doesn’t stop a wistful sigh from falling, though. “Dr. Grant is right,” she says. “We’re not… we’re not there yet.”

 

Images of Lexa - quickly, roughly, gently, persistently, unsurely - pushing her hands away whenever she’s wanted to touch her, to _feel_ her, flash through her mind, and she swallows the bitter lump in her throat. _I don’t want that to happen, and I have a feeling that’s exactly what’s going to happen if we were to -- and I’m so tired of feeling empty._

 

The gentle, sad curve of Lexa’s mouth lets her know she’s thinking the same thing. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “for being so… forthcoming.”

 

“No, no, I understand,” Clarke quickly interjects. “Trust me,” she lets out a humorless chuckle. “I _get_ it.”

 

Lexa’s smile is muted. “Right.” She surprises Clarke by slowly reaching out and taking her hand in hers. “I… I wish I could say we’re already there,” she says, looking up at her and finding her eyes with her own.

 

“I know.” Clarke’s overcome with this sudden want to reassure her, and so she does - or at least tries to, stepping closer to her and taking her other hand. Smoothing her thumbs over her knuckles. Lexa does that a lot to her. It feels good to reciprocate. “It’s okay to need time, Lexa. And space, too. If you--” she swallows, again, because the words will never get less painful to get out but -- but. “If you ever need to… take a step back, I want you to feel comfortable with sharing that need with me. And I’ll understand. I promise you, Lexa.”

 

“Okay.” She knows Lexa wants to tell her that no, she won’t need that anymore, but at this point, it would be a lie. Clarke watches Lexa take a deep breath, and feels her squeeze her hands. “It’s enough, you know,” she tells her then, smiling more with her eyes than her lips. “Your promise. It’s -- enough.”

 

And Clarke hears everything Lexa doesn’t say. _I’m getting closer to trusting your word,_ Lexa’s eyes tell her, and they are filled with wonder, as if Lexa herself is only now discovering that. Perhaps, she is.

 

Clarke nods, and leans into Lexa, resting her head on her shoulder and smiling when she feels Lexa’s arms slowly entwine her waist. “I don’t want to go,” she confesses quietly into Lexa’s jacket, inhaling her scent. Leather mixed with soft, barely-there cologne and _Lexa._

 

She feels her arms tighten around her. “And I don’t want to let you go.” A soft, long kiss is pressed to her temple, and then, Lexa’s pulling away, and Clarke can’t hold back a pitiful whine. “It’s late,” Lexa says with a chuckle. Her hands are still resting on Clarke’s waist, but there’s a distance between them that Clarke really wishes weren’t there. “You should get some sleep. And so should I.”

 

Clarke nods. “Big day tomorrow?”

 

“You could say that.” Lexa doesn’t frown, but Clarke immediately understands something’s wrong by the way Lexa’s face grows impassive. She still can see her inner struggle in her eyes - she’s clearly debating whether to tell Clarke something. Before Clarke can tell her that it’s okay and she doesn’t have to say anything she doesn’t want to share with her, she makes up her mind. “Lincoln is coming back.”

 

“Oh.” It’s been awhile since one simple statement made her so conflicted. But this isn’t about her, or them. It’s Lexa’s family; so she swallows and tries to smile. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s finally ready to talk to you.”

 

“Hey,” Lexa whispers, and entwines their fingers. “It’s gonna be fine. He won’t try to do anything.”

 

“I’m not worried about that.”

 

Green eyes smile. “Then _what_ are you worried about?”

 

“Why is it so easy for you to read me?” Clarke mumbles. Lexa prefers not to answer. Judging by the way she briefly locks her jaw, she wouldn’t want to hear the answer anyway, even though she already kind of knows it.

 

_She’s constantly on high alert around me now. Of course she notices things._

 

Clarke shakes her head. “I’m just -- when he went away, he was able to clear his head and… I don’t want him to lose it again. And he will once he learns you and I are trying to be together.”

 

One impeccable brow flies up. “ _Trying to?_ ” Lexa repeats with an amused smile. “I was under the impression that we’re already together.”

 

Clarke blinks. “I -- well, yeah, but what’s with us going to therapy and--”

 

“We’re having problems.” Lexa’s gaze grows suddenly intense, hot, as she focuses on her face. “Couples do that. Some fall apart. Some try to solve them. Like us. Clarke,” she quietly says, getting closer - and Clarke can’t be blamed when her gaze flicks to full lips. “I want to be with you, and I _am_ with you, okay?”

 

Clarke’s fingertips play with small hair at the back of Lexa’s neck as she stares her in the eye. “Are you pivoting again?”

 

Full lips form a smirk. “Maybe a little,” Lexa admits, “but I stand by what I just said.”

 

“Okay,” Clarke says, and kisses her, because she can’t hold herself back any longer and because Lexa licks her lips so damn invitingly before meeting her halfway and deepening the kiss right away. “Whoa,” she says, pulling away with a chuckle after several seconds. “Keep that up and we’ll make Dr. Grant one unhappy therapist.”

 

“Sorry,” Lexa murmurs, not really sounding like it. “I’m -- I might be still thinking about what you’ve said today.”

 

“Good.” Clarke pecks her lips again, and her smile grows when Lexa tries to chase her lips when she pulls back. “Don’t forget about it. Ever.”

 

Lexa answers with a nod and a smile. Then, after a small pause: “You don’t need to worry about Lincoln. In any way.”

 

“I just want you and him to be okay again,” Clarke confesses with a sigh. “God,” she continues next, a bitter chuckle falling from her lips. “I fucked up all of your relationships, didn’t I?”

 

“Well, not _all_ of them. Indra’s the same,” Lexa comments lightly, and Clarke can’t help it - she bursts out laughing. She laughs, and laughs, and Lexa laughs with her, and when tears start making their way down Clarke’s cheeks, she only wipes them with her thumbs and kisses the salt on her lips away.

 

//

 

Lexa leaves with a terrifying proposition. Thankfully, Clarke has the one for her, as well. Now both of them are quietly dreading dinner with the other’s family. Clarke’s not sure if she’s glad or scared they are seeing hers first.

 

“Lincoln is -- well. He’s definitely not there yet,” Lexa told her as they parted. “And I’m guessing your mother’s been... waiting for a while.”

 

Clarke couldn’t help it. She pouted. “Those are baseless accusations.”

 

“Are they?” Lexa arched her brow at her again, and Clarke sighed.

 

“Well - okay. Maybe. I was just waiting for the right time to bring it up.”

 

“Sure,” Lexa smiled, and left it at that. _That_ being them visiting her parents next week.

 

(They both mutually agreed it wasn’t going to be counted as a date.)

 

And now, Clarke’s running around buying groceries while fighting with her mother on who’s cooking. “For the last time,” she says into the phone. “Lexa’s used to my cooking.”

 

Her mom scoffs. “ _I taught you,_ ” she states. “ _She’ll like my cooking just fine. Also, she’s a grown woman, Clarke._ ”

 

 _It’s going to be a long night,_ Clarke thinks and grabs a bottle of wine to go along with her groceries.

 

//

 

“Hey.”

 

On the other side of the door, Lexa stands, looking impeccable. And a little nervous. But mostly impeccable. “Hey back,” she says, before continuing more quietly. “You look -- you look amazing.”

 

Clarke’s not an easy blusher, but she finds that around Lexa, she is. She resists the urge to tug at her simple beige sundress, giving Lexa a smile. “Thank you. So do you.”

 

Lexa grins a small grin. “That’s how I always look,” she says, glancing down at her own outfit briefly. Clarke does the same, taking a quick moment to appreciate the way the shirt clings to her body - and the way those pants outline her long legs. She doesn’t miss the bouquet she’s holding, either, but decides not to comment.  “You always look amazing, then,” she chuckles.

 

Green eyes widen, just a little. “Oh, I wasn’t -- fishing for a compliment just now, I…” she trails off and sighs under Clarke’s amused gaze. Then, she smiles. “Hey.”

 

“Come here,” Clarke murmurs, because she can, and takes Lexa’s hand to lead her inside the apartment. But, just as she leans in, Lexa draws back.

 

“Clarke,” she whispers. “We’re in your parents’ home.”

 

As if on cue, her mother appears behind her. “Oh, hello, Lexa,” she says, and it’s not without warmth. “I was wondering what was taking so long.” She smirks as she takes in their joined hands and apparent closeness. “Now I don’t have to.”

 

Lexa clears her throat. Clarke knows she must be embarrassed. Yet, she doesn’t immediately pull away. She does so gradually, with a light squeeze of her hand and a brief glance. “Hello, Dr. Griffin. Thank you for having me.” She takes a step towards Abby and presents the bouquet to her.

 

“Oh my gosh,” Abby chuckles, accepting the flowers and inhaling their scent. “You shouldn’t have.” She looks at Clarke. “She’s a charmer, huh?”

 

Clarke doesn’t answer, instead adoring the faint pink dusted across Lexa’s cheeks.

 

“I’m going to go put these in water,” Abby says, a little louder. “Dinner’s ready, by the way.” Her smirk only grows as she turns around and leaves them to stand there.

 

“Oh,” Lexa says, as if suddenly remembering something, and steps back into the hallway, bringing a brown paper bag with her. “This is for you,” she reaches inside and takes out a single rose. Bright red.

 

Clarke’s sure her cheeks are getting closer to that color as she takes the flower, almost dropping it when their fingers brush in the process. _God. What is she doing to me?_

 

“And this,” Lexa continues, producing a bottle of wine from within the now empty bag, “is for us. I had a feeling it was going to be an… interesting evening.”

 

Clarke thinks back to the bottle she’s bought today. “You and me both.”

 

//

 

Surprisingly enough, the dinner goes quite smoothly. Clarke’s father tugs Lexa into a hug by the hand she offered for a handshake, and Lexa appears only mildly uncomfortable. When they part, however, her smile is warm, and so is Clarke’s heart.

 

Clarke still has some trepidation when they finally sit down to eat, but Lexa’s presence next to her is soothing. Ironic, considering Clarke’s supposed to be the one soothing her, isn’t she?

 

 _Woman up,_ she tells herself sternly and reaches for Lexa’s hand under the table, gently touching it and smiling when Lexa lifts her eyes to meet hers. _I’m here,_ she tries to convey.

 

 _I know,_ Lexa’s smile tells her as she squeezes her fingers once before letting go and reaching for her fork. And after that, she’s -- well, perfect is the only word Clarke has. She smiles at her parents and she compliments Abby’s cooking (and genuinely enjoys it) and she patiently answers all of their questions about work and life and even family, all without a hitch. Perhaps, Clarke should be taken aback - maybe even a little scared - by how easy Lexa makes talking about her family seem when she knows firsthand it’s not.

 

Instead, she feels admiration. For how strong she really is.

 

Needless to say that by the end of the night, Abby significantly warms up to Lexa. When the latter tries to help her with the dishes, she only shoos her away, and she’s adamant about it. “You’re the guest,” she states, taking a plate from her hand. “Come see me when you’re my daughter in law - then we’ll talk.”

 

“Mom!” Saying Clarke is mortified would be an understatement of the year.

 

The tips of Lexa’s ears burn bright red, but she still manages a smile. “I’ll… keep that in mind, Abby.”

 

“Good. Where do you think you’re going?” The crazy woman, as Clarke’s already dubbed her for the night, addresses her next.

 

“Um,” Clarke says, but Abby’s not patient enough to wait for her to come up with a more intelligent response. “You’re not the guest. Come help me,” she says, and it’s only a little teasing. She knows her mother means it.

 

Lexa’s still smiling when she glances at her. “I’ll be fine without you for five minutes, you know,” she points out, clearly noticing Clarke’s distress.

 

“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” Clarke mutters, lingering in the doorway while her mother busies herself with leftovers.

 

Lexa lets out a mocking gasp. “Outrageous,” she murmurs back.

 

“Clarke,” Abby calls before she can answer. “Quit flirting and let Lexa go and rest. We’ll join them soon.”

 

She barely resists the urge to flick Lexa on her forehead when she lets out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a _giggle_ and walks away, leaving her in the kitchen.

 

//

 

“Dad wanted to talk to her, didn’t he?”

 

Abby hands her another plate, humming. “I wasn’t very subtle, was I?”

 

“Not at all,” Clarke snorts as she puts the plate away after drying it. “It’s like you weren’t even trying.”

 

Abby shrugs. “I wasn’t.” When Clarke glares at her, she only grins. “So,” she starts, and Clarke already doesn’t like her tone. “Lexa didn’t exactly object when I mentioned her being my daughter in law…”

 

“Oh, my God,” Clarke hisses. “I can’t believe you did that. I -- we still have so many things to work on, and you go and say something like that?”

 

Abby doesn’t look too fazed. “Sweetie,” she says. “She did not object.”

 

“That’s because sometimes she’s too polite for her own good!” Clarke quietly implodes. “Seriously, mom. Don’t say something like that again.” She sighs. “ _Please._ ”

 

Abby finishes rinsing the last plate. “Fine, I won’t. I may have gone a little too far. I’m sorry,” she offers her, along with the plate which Clarke takes with another sigh.

 

“Apology accepted, just don’t do it again.”

 

“I already said I won’t.”

 

Clarke dries her hands and turns, leaning against the counter. “What did he want to talk to her about?” She asks, already knowing she won’t get an answer. Abby shakes her head, proving her right.

 

“I can’t tell you. Mostly because I don’t really know, either. He just asked me to help him find some time alone with Lexa.” She tilts her head to the right as she studies Clarke for several silent seconds, and her eyes are crinkling with a warm smile. “She’s a great girl, you know.”

 

There’s a lump in her throat again. She doesn’t know why, but she gets a sudden urge to cry. Perhaps, it’s because her mom is finally seeing Lexa for who she is, and is appreciating her for that. God knows Lexa deserves that. And so, so much more. And Clarke wants nothing more than to give that to her. She still doesn’t know if she’s capable, but she’s damn sure she’s going to try for her.

 

“I know,” she replies quietly. “I -- she makes me happy, mom.”

 

“I know,” Abby says softly, rubbing her arm. “I saw it. Today. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “You didn’t know the whole situation.”

 

“Maybe. But I was wrong about her right from the start. I wasn’t exactly welcoming in the beginning, and I hardly had any reason not to be.” There’s genuine remorse in Abby’s voice, and Clarke gives her a reassuring smile.

 

“I’m just glad you were willing to try.”

 

“How could I not be willing to try for my future daughter-in-law?” Abby says, and runs away, laughing, leaving her daughter to stand in the kitchen and roll her eyes.

 

//

 

“I had fun tonight,” Lexa tells her when they walk down the street, hand in hand. Clarke still can’t get over that simple fact. Not without Dr. Grant’s gentle suggestion, they’ve been trying out small acts of intimacy. Clarke’s certainly not complaining. Neither is Lexa.

 

“Me too,” she replies. “And once again, I’m sorry about my mom’s joke. About, um -- about the whole daughter in law thing. She can be a dork sometimes.”

 

Lexa’s lips twitch. “It’s fine.”

 

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask - did Anya talk to you about Raven?”

 

Lexa’s expression becomes apologetic. “We haven’t really seen each other for the past few days,” she says. “It’s been a busy week. I’ll make sure to ask her tomorrow.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Clarke quickly says. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I was -- I was being stupid about this whole thing. Anya definitely has other things to worry about and better things to do than stalking my friends.”

 

They walk around a puddle from both sides, and Clarke can’t stop her heart from fluttering when Lexa confidently leads her around it and immediately tugs her close when it ends. “It’s normal to worry about your friend,” she says. “And I promised I’d keep an eye on her, so I will.”

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Clarke asks as they approach her building. “It sounds like you’re very busy lately. If you need to take a break--”

 

Lexa’s quick to interject. “No,” she says. “I don’t -- I don’t want to take a break from you.” Green eyes search her face. “It actually feels like we’re making progress. I don’t want to lose that.”

 

“Lexa,” Clarke breathes out. “You won’t. I’ll be here. I’ll _always_ be here.”

 

Lexa’s smile grows sad, suddenly. “You can’t promise that,” she says. For some reason, Clarke gets a feeling there’s something else behind that statement besides the looming presence of her betrayal.

 

“Maybe,” she says. “But I’ll try my hardest anyway.” She grins, then, and glances up at her windows. “I guess that’s still a no on my tea offer?”

 

Lexa grins back, and Clarke doesn’t miss relief flash through her eyes. She’s grateful for the sudden change of subject, that’s for sure. Then again, that’s why she’s changed it. “I’m afraid so,” she murmurs. “But I’d like to see you to your door, if that’s okay.”

 

Clarke looks up at her through her lashes. Glances at the door. At their hands, fingers still entwined, and -- God, she really _, really_ doesn’t want this to end. “Lex, I -- you’re not gonna like this, probably.”

 

Lexa’s frown is small, but cautious - and that’s what makes Clarke’s heart painfully squeeze in her chest. That’s also one of the reasons she hopes Lexa agrees to what she’s about to say. “What is it?”

 

Clarke thinks there’s no use stalling. “Spend the night with me.” Green eyes widen, but Clarke keeps going before she can object. And because she’s afraid that if she stops, she’ll lose her sudden, reckless courage. “We’ll just sleep. I know we’re capable of keeping our hands to ourselves. I can take the couch if that makes you more comfortable. I just…” She sighs, and bites her lower lip as she shyly looks at Lexa. “I know I’m gonna miss you when you leave, and -- it’s another week till our appointment.”

 

She watches as Lexa looks down at her shoes, clearly trying to figure out how to reject her offer delicately. Well -- it’s not like she expected her to agree. She just wanted to say it out loud. To put it out there, for Lexa to know.

 

That’s why her mouth hangs open and her heart beats faster and faster and faster when Lexa lifts her head and gives her the tiniest nod, and the smallest smile.


	20. part iii chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
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> 
> enjoy your read!

“I still have a couple of your t-shirts,” Clarke says. “If you need something to sleep in.”

 

Lexa takes a careful sip. “That’d be great. Thanks.” And they settle back into weird silence that’s been surrounding them ever since they walked through the door. And Clarke gets it. It’s been awhile since Lexa’s stayed over, and neither of them really know what’s the protocol now.

 

She’s fed up with nervous quietness after several minutes. “Lexa,” she calls, and Lexa snaps her gaze up to meet hers. Green eyes are filled with apprehension, and Clarke tries not to flinch. “You don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable.” Lexa shifts in her seat, and honestly, the notion of _if_ is laughable. Of course she’s uncomfortable. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lexa this -- unsure.

 

_Is the prospect of spending the night with me that terrifying?_

 

Clarke searches Lexa’s markedly stoic face, and that’s her answer. The worst thing is, she _gets_ it.

 

“I apologize,” Lexa answers after a short pause. “I didn’t want to give you the impression that I don’t want to be here.”

 

“You can want to be here and still be uncomfortable,” Clarke points out, “and that’s the last thing I want you to feel.” She pauses. Watches Lexa’s gaze soften when hers does. “Lexa, it’s okay. If you leave, it’s okay. We’ll try again when you’re ready. Take it slow, remember?”

 

Lexa’s lips twitch. “That’s not something I’ll forget any time soon,” she says pointedly, and with Clarke’s answering quiet laughter, the last of tension leaves the room. “My desire to be here far outweighs my… unease,” she tells Clarke next, earnestly, sending pleasant heat to spread through her body. It only intensifies when she slides her hand across the table to take Clarke’s, lightly caressing skin. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispers. “That’s what I feel.”

 

Clarke shakes her head. Chuckles. “How do you do this?” At Lexa’s confused smile, she continues. “How do you make every moment so -- _special?_ ”

 

Lexa shrugs, and flashes her a small yet impish grin, and doesn’t lean back when Clarke’s hand finds the back of her neck and her lips find hers.

 

//

 

She wakes to sunlight beaming onto her face, and it feels less poetic than it sounds. It’s far too hot and harsh on her skin, and so she groans and tries to turn around, but there’s a strong arm around her waist preventing her from doing so. The more she moves, the more the grip on her tightens.

 

 _Possessive side,_ Clarke remembers Dr. Grant’s words, and smiles as she gently scratches her blunt nails up and down Lexa’s arm, prompting her to release her so she can face her. Lexa only murmurs something unintelligible in her neck and pulls her closer. She laughs.

 

“...Clarke?” Lexa’s voice is warm with sleep, just like her body pressed up against Clarke.

 

“Hey,” she whispers as Lexa’s grip loosens enough for her to roll over and come face to face with her. She can’t hold back a small chuckle at the sight before her. Lexa’s eyes are hazy with sleep, a little unfocused, and her curls are wild, scattered on the pillow and partly on her face. She reaches out, brushing them away for her. Welcomes the sweet ache in her heart she’s become accustomed to when Lexa gives her a smile.

 

“Hey.” Goosebumps rise where Lexa’s fingertips lazily stroke the skin of her lower back. “Sleep well?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Clarke replies distractedly. Her whole body - her traitorous body - decides to fully focus on Lexa’s small touches instead of her voice, and she’s not sure she’s strong enough to stop it. She’s spent the whole night in Lexa’s embrace, and she’s slowly reaching her breaking point. They almost tipped over it last night a couple of times already, when kisses grew more and more heated and hands wandered, and Lexa’s green eyes turned practically black in the dark stillness of the room.

 

Clarke remembers Lexa struggling to speak when their lips parted after a particularly deep kiss. “I,” Lexa breathlessly stuttered, “I -- maybe I should take the… the couch.”

 

Clarke’s arms already tightened around Lexa before she even replied. “No. I’ll go.” Even though she didn’t want to. Really, _really_ didn’t want to. But if Lexa couldn’t stand this anymore…

 

Lexa let out a long breath as she rested her forehead on Clarke’s, trying to calm her breathing. “Okay,” she says, not without mirth. “No one is going anywhere. We just need to… step back a little.”

 

Clarke agreed, and so they did. Which proved to be quite a feat. Lexa kept tensing up in her hold, and Clarke kept offering she take the couch. Lexa declined.

 

“Well,” Clarke said, then. “We could try to lie next to each other? No cuddling?”

 

Lexa took her time with the reply. “You must think I’m being childish,” she said after a long pause, staring at the ceiling.

 

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Clarke hurried to reply, causing Lexa to look at her. In the dark, her features were sharper, more pronounced, and Clarke suppressed the urge to trace them with her fingertips. “Sometimes, cuddling is so much more intimate than sex.”

 

Lexa’s teeth flashed as she smirked. “Depends on the sex, too.”

 

“Okay,” Clarke rolled her eyes. “Talking about sex might not be the best decision right now.” She shifted, hissing when her thighs rubbed together. She still felt on edge, sticky and hot and uncomfortable, but not entirely in an unpleasant way.

 

“Sorry.” Lexa chuckled, and Clarke could sense her hesitation before her next words. “I -- could we… try? Your suggestion?”

 

“Of course,” Clarke nodded so quickly she was half-afraid she’d strain a muscle. “Yes.” She almost said _anything_ , but Lexa was already careful, alert, and she didn’t need to add worry for her to the mix.

 

“Thank you.” The words were whispered into the room, and Clarke curled up next to Lexa, careful not to touch her.

 

Lexa’s hand found hers in the sheets, tentative, gentle, and she felt silly when tears slid down her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop them from coming.

 

And now, after a night of such an intense emotional rollercoaster, they wake up tangled up in each other, their bodies having minds of their own.

 

“Are you hungry?” She asks, shaking off the daze Lexa and memories of last night put her in. It’s best to go the safe route right now. As much as she wants to spend the day lounging in bed with Lexa, she’s not sure if they’ll stop there. And she’s also not sure Lexa won’t panic and push her away any second now, and she doesn’t know if it’s something she’ll be able to handle.

 

Lexa’s eyes clear, and Clarke’s relieved when she doesn’t recoil from her. “I could eat,” she says in a raspy voice. Bad, bad thoughts flash through Clarke’s mind.

 

She slips out of Lexa’s hold before the latter can protest. “Okay.” She’s proud of herself when her voice almost doesn’t tremble. “I think I still have some pancake mix left -- somewhere. You’re free to look wherever. I’d do it myself, but I, uh, I really need a shower.” She knows she’s being rude, but she can’t help it. There’s pressing heat low in her stomach and if she continues to be around Lexa in this state -- if Lexa keeps looking like that, all lazy and pliant and warm with her t-shirt riding up her stomach-- “Help yourself,” she quickly utters as she hurries to the bathroom, leaving Lexa behind to chuckle. Because _of course_ Lexa understood what’s going in. Of course.

 

The water is cold when she hastily turns it on, and she squeaks as she jumps from under it and frantically adjusts the temperature. She’s not a fan of cold showers in the first place, but right now, cool streams feel freezing on her heated skin, and it’s far from pleasant.

 

And that’s what she’s here for. She doubts she’d be able to go through the breakfast without some... relief.

 

(There are a million thoughts and feelings rushing through her all at once, but, just like always, she settles on the easiest one. She knows she’ll have the whole night to herself later to obsess over every little thing that happened the night before, but right now she’s got one less scary, but particularly pressing matter.)

 

Her hands follow the water down her stomach; then up, to her chest. She hesitates only a moment, contemplating whether or not it’d be right, before her fingers find the stiff peaks of her nipples. A ragged breath falls from her lips when she squeezes, just slightly, barely, but it’s enough to send an electric jolt to her core. She strokes, tentatively at first, focusing on the way it echoes in her clit - and, God, not for the first time she’s grateful about her sensitivity when it comes to her breasts.

 

Lexa and her had a couple of particularly… interesting nights when she was able to fall apart just from this. Careful, light, long fingers brushing against her chest as plump lips nibbled on her neck and green eyes drank her in.

 

She lets out a shuddering breath at the memory, stumbling back to support herself against the bathroom wall and hissing when she comes in contact with cold tiles. It’s forgotten almost immediately; she closes her eyes and arches into her own hands as they finally cup her breasts and _squeeze_.

 

A sharp cry makes her come to her senses, and she blinks a couple of times, forcefully reminding herself she’s not alone, and Lexa can’t, absolutely _cannot_ hear her. Even if she’s probably guessed - she can’t.

 

Deciding she’s had enough of foreplay today and last night and, quite honestly, these past couple of months, she trails her hand down her stomach. And chokes on her own moan. She hasn’t anticipated feeling such sharp _relief_ at finally being touched - just like she didn’t expect to find herself _this_ drenched.

 

 _Definitely not water,_ she thinks to herself, and then, all thoughts leave her mind as she brushes her thumb over her clit, to slick folds and back, and easily slips two fingers inside, without any resistance. It’s almost embarrassing how _not long_ it takes her to _crumble._ Her thumb firmly pressed to her clit and her other hand pinching her nipple, she comes on her own fingers with a silent scream, mouth open wide and eyes screwed shut; and her orgasm is a white, hot flash through her entire body.

 

“Lexa,” she quietly moans as she feels herself pulse. “God, Lexa…”

 

There’s a loud thud coming from the kitchen, and it jolts her back to reality. She almost jumps, withdrawing her hand and smirking bashfully when her cunt clenches around nothing, wistfully, greedily. _Not today,_ she chuckles to herself and quickly finishes up. It feels like she’s already been here for far too long. Lexa’s probably already done with pancakes.

 

It’s very quiet when she walks out of the shower, having thrown her pajamas back on. “Lexa?” she calls, fighting off the blush as she thinks back to her shower. “Sorry I took so long, I--”

 

Lexa’s slow as she meets her eyes, and her fingers are trembling, causing the paper in her hand to tremble as well. There’s an empty Captain Crunch box lying on the floor next to her feet, along with a large pan and a shattered mug, and Clarke’s eyes go wide with terrified realization.

 

She couldn’t make herself throw the letters out, and so she hid it in the only place she knew Raven wouldn’t snoop in. Surprisingly enough, her friend is serious about no added sugar in her diet.

 

She couldn’t even imagine Lexa ever getting close to that box, either. Stupid. She’s been so stupid and now--

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lexa’s voice is quiet. Small. “Why didn’t you -- _Clarke_ ,” she breathes out, and there’s so much raw _emotion_ in her eyes Clarke feels like falling to her knees.

 

“I don’t know,” she whispers, somehow managing to find her voice. “I don’t know. At first I was afraid you’d think it was some kinda ploy, and then I just -- I thought I’d show them to you when we got better. When… when I got better.”

 

Lexa’s quick to cross the room and gather her in her arms. “All those girls - they would have _never_ become something more,” she whispers to her, hot and ragged. “I need you to know that.”

 

And Clarke finally allows herself to break.

 

//

 

They stay on the floor after Lexa gently guides her down. The box is still there, with letters scattered around it, and Lexa’s arms around her are strong and sure.

 

“Where do you want me to start?” She asks, gently, and Clarke takes a deep, calming breath.

 

“From the start,” she says simply. Fishes out a letter and passes it to Lexa, and wipes her cheeks as she watches her unfold it. She knows it’s no use. More tears are inevitable considering what they are about to do. “You already read the first one, so -- here. I didn’t think I’d keep going, but…” she trails off with a watery chuckle.

 

“We don’t have to do this,” Lexa tells her quietly. The gentle press of her lips to her temple brings forth a new wave of tears, but Clarke swallows them down.

 

“I know. I want to.”

 

Lexa nods, and reads. Her frown deepens as she does, and her hold on Clarke tightens.

 

Clarke’s startled when Lexa suddenly leans in and brushes her lips against hers. It takes her several seconds to respond, and when she does, she tastes salt. Lexa probably does, too, but she’s persistent. When they part, Clarke blinks. “What was that for?” she whispers, smiling through tears.

 

“Your letter,” Lexa says, and it’s a little unsure, but her voice grows stronger as she continues to speak. “You wrote -- that I’d kiss you when I read this, and I followed the instruction.” Her smile is weak, but soft, and Clarke bites the inside of her cheek to stop the new onslaught of tears.

 

 _“Right now you’re reading this exact sentence and pausing to kiss me.”_ She remembers that. Now. She’s never re-read those. It hurt too much. But now -- maybe, now it’ll help her heal.

 

“Dork,” she murmurs to Lexa, and kisses her again. Just because she can. Just because the past her couldn’t.

 

“I remember that day,” Lexa tells her when they break the slow kiss. “I felt - terrible, but… Seeing you with your father, with your family. It finally clicked then. He was the culprit, and here he was, alive and well and laughing, and I -- I started to get it a little more. Why you did what you did.” She lets out a humorless laugh, and Clarke squeezes her hand. “I always got it. It hurt. God, it hurt. But seeing him helped me start to let go of that pain. Does that make sense?”

 

“Yes. It makes all the sense in the world.” Clarke hesitates before asking her next question. “Is that… Is that why you kissed me? In the bathroom.”

 

“Partly,” Lexa admits, before her lips curl in a small smirk. “I also couldn’t keep my hands off you. I never could, and that scared me for awhile.”

 

She’s silent as she reads through the entire third letter. Clarke watches her as she frowns, and smiles, and swallows thickly. She watches her stop reading and just look at the paper for several seconds, before her lips twitch in another weak smile. “Raven has the best timing, doesn’t she?” She glances back at Clarke. “She was at the door so you had to stop writing.”

 

“Oh. That. Yeah,” Clarke smiles. “She’s -- yeah.”

 

Lexa’s smile fades. “I’m glad you didn’t let me go,” she says. “Even if it was insane and probably wrong, I -- I’m happy we kept going. It got us here. We could’ve went a much better path, but -- we’re still here.”

 

“I know,” Clarke whispers. “I’m happy, too.”

 

“Ask me,” Lexa suddenly says. “Ask me again if we’re meant to be.”

 

“Lexa…” Clarke sighs, shaking her head and putting some distance between them. Green eyes follow her every movement. “I can’t do that when you’re like this. That would be taking advantage of you, and I’ve done enough of that to last me several lifetimes,” she quips dryly, making Lexa chuckle in spite of herself. “These,” she points at the letters, “are emotional for you - for us, and you’re not thinking clearly. I don’t want you to say something you might regret later.”

 

Lexa presses her lips together, but doesn’t argue. “Perhaps you’re right,” she admits in a quiet voice. “But you will ask me again someday.” Clarke’s heart jumps in her chest, and beats sharp and fast at Lexa’s suddenly intense gaze. “And I will be ready to answer.”

 

“Deal,” Clarke whispers. Lexa nods, and goes back to reading again, while Clarke watches her, deep in thought.


	21. part iii chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!

Lexa decides they are in dire need of a break - and calories - after going through such heavy emotional experience. Clarke doesn’t object one bit. Especially when Lexa passes by the whole grain bread that she keeps mostly for Lexa’s benefit anyway. “If we’re making French toast,” she announces, “we’re gonna make it right.”

 

Clarke honestly doesn’t care if Lexa serves her an empty plate as long as she stays with her like this. Smiling like this. Joking like this. Looking at her like _this,_ with calm, muted adoration that feels -- confident. Whole. Just like her.

 

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Lexa asks, one eyebrow raised teasingly as she glances at her.

 

Clarke pretends to think about it. “I’m good.” She barely manages to catch the towel Lexa throws at her, laughing. “Really? Resorting to domestic abuse?”

 

At that, Lexa scoffs. “You haven’t seen anything yet. That was nothing,” she says, pointing at Clarke with a spatula. Clarke hums.

 

“Maybe you could... educate me sometime,” she tells her, coming up to Lexa and leaning against the counter while she watches her whip the eggs. Lexa doesn’t falter as she replies with an amused chuckle.

 

“Is that your delicate way of asking me to _punish_ you?” She flashes an exaggerated suggestive smirk, and Clarke is about to response, but the smile quickly fades as Lexa drops her gaze to the bowl in front of her, slowing her movements down until she’s completely still. The suddenly tense silence falls over them. And Clarke -- Clarke doesn’t know how to break it.

 

They may have made it out, but not without scars. Each one different - each one still painful.

 

“It’s not like…” Lexa’s lips twitch in a brief, sad smile. “I think I’ve made a great contribution as it is.” She sharply snaps her head up to look at Clarke again when she reaches out and lightly touches her arm, but other than that, she doesn’t move.

 

Clarke doesn’t speak right away. For a moment, she allows herself to enjoy the feeling of Lexa’s skin. “I don’t think you realized that’s what you were doing. Honestly…” She raises her hand to sofly cup Lexa’s cheek, ensuring she doesn’t turn away as she stares her in the eye. “I don’t think that’s what you were doing.”

 

“But it was,” Lexa says quietly. “Your letters -- they took me back to that time, and I -- I wanted to _hurt_ you, Clarke.” She reaches up to place her hand on Clarke’s that’s caressing her cheek, and closes her eyes for a second. “I wanted to cause you pain. As much pain as you caused me. More, even.”

 

Clarke tries to swallow the bitter lump in her throat. She takes a deep breath, to try and calm herself down. To think rationally. She’s had plenty of time to do that before. She wants Lexa to do that now. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Okay. And what did you do to retaliate?”

 

At that Lexa blinks. Frowns. “I…”

 

When it’s clear she’s not going to continue, Clarke speaks again. “When we had sex,” she pauses, thinking of a way to phrase her question better. “Did you think of it as punishment? Were you so detached intentionally?”

 

Lexa’s eyes flash. “No,” she says. “I didn’t think about it. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away,” she finishes quietly. Her fingers curl around Clarke’s, and Clarke lets her take her hand off her cheek, smiling when Lexa doesn’t let go.

 

She takes another deep breath. “And when you didn’t let me touch you,” she says, softly, slowly, “did you think of it as punishment?”

 

It takes Lexa a bit longer to reply. “No. I was… too hurt to let you do that. I was -- afraid.”

 

Clarke nods. “And when you wouldn’t talk to me, or stay with me,” she thought the reminder wouldn’t hurt this much after all the progress they’ve had, but it still does, and she struggles not to let tears fall. But Lexa gets closer to her, and smoothes a thumb over her cheekbone before resting her forehead against hers, as if telling her that it was okay. That she should let go. And so she does, feeling them slowly slide down her face. “When you didn’t want anything to do with me - did you think of it as punishment?”

 

“It was, essentially,” Lexa says, but Clarke shakes her head.

 

“Did you think of it as punishment? Did you do it to _punish_ me?”

 

Lexa lets out a shuddering sigh, and her warm breath hits Clarke’s lips, making her shiver. “No,” she says. “I was trying to protect myself.”

 

Clarke’s not surprised to find Lexa’s lips salty and wet, too. When they part, Lexa lets out another breath, this time with a shaky chuckle. “One time, though,” she says, “one time I did do something on purpose. When I came to the gala with that girl.”

 

Clarke remembers, and winces. That seems like so long ago. Her conversation with Anya is, however, etched in her memory for all of the eternity, most likely. She doubts she’ll ever forget it - but she can learn to remember it without pain. “Right. That was pretty uncool,” she tries to joke.

 

But Lexa’s tone is serious when she speaks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for that, and for all the heartache between us.” And Clarke sobs at her words, because none of this is Lexa’s fault and she’s the one apologizing and feels so, so wrong - and so she presses closer to her before taking a step back and looking her in the eye again. Hoping she’s able to convey everything she’s feeling.

 

“Lexa,” she breathes out. “I can’t even _begin_ to describe how sorry I am for all the things I’ve done.”

 

Lexa whispers ‘ _I know,_ ’ and holds her close. It’s not complete forgiveness. Not yet. Clarke’s still not sure if they’ll ever reach that. But it is _acceptance,_ and it’s so much more than she’s ever hoped for.

 

***

 

They finally have their breakfast that’s more of a brunch now after they wipe each other’s tears off. Lexa doesn’t even comment on the amount of syrup Clarke pours onto her toast.

 

She’s not surprised when Lexa can’t finish her own, and only laughs when she brews herself some green tea, grumbling about way too much sugar.

 

She can sense Lexa wants to talk about the letters again. And she understands - it was a huge piece of information that they uncovered today. There must be more questions burning at the tip of Lexa’s tongue. It’s clear that she’s not sure how to approach that topic again. Clarke’s not sure, either. Not sure whether she’ll be able to handle more of that today, too; but she wants everything to be out in the open.

 

Lexa’s gaze is warm, but careful. She knows she won’t bring it up herself, so she sighs and pushes her empty plate away, focusing on Lexa’s pensive face. “Whatever it is, you can ask me,” she says gently. _I won’t break._

 

“It’s not really a question,” Lexa replies. “I just thought that there might be something that you might want to ask me about. Or -- I could tell you about.” Her gaze searches Clarke’s face, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

 

“What is it?”

 

Lexa clears her throat. “It’s about Kate.”

 

She keeps saying this, but -- the sharp, breathtaking pain that the name brings isn’t something she’s prepared for. Then again, is it even possible to be ready for any kind of pain?

 

 _Especially not this one,_ she thinks bitterly. _When the one you love is with someone else, it’s -- excruciating._

 

She tells herself, not for the first time - because there have been plenty of occasions when she would remember about the woman, the other woman Lexa had in her life - that Lexa’s with her. Here, right now, working through their problems and yearning for a happy ending just like she is. For _their_ happy ending.

 

She blinks when she feels Lexa’s hand on hers. The worry in green eyes tells her it’s been there for a while, and she simply hadn’t noticed. “Hey,” Lexa whispers soothingly. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

 

“But I want to.” She’s a bit taken aback with how strong her voice suddenly sounds in the quiet room.

 

Lexa nods. Her thumb caresses Clarke’s pinkie as she watches her take a deep breath.

 

“Was she…” Clarke swallows, painfully, not knowing what word to use. “Were you dating?”

 

To her surprise - relief - Lexa shakes her head. “No. We were never anything more than -- anything _more._ ” She doesn’t miss the way Lexa stumbles, but her not saying it doesn’t mean it’s not _there._ Heavily hanging between them. Fuck buddies, bed partners, casual hookups - whatever the name that Lexa swallowed is, it all means one thing. Lexa shared her bed and her body with someone who wasn’t Clarke.

 

She thinks back to her and Finn, and turns her hand palm up, entwining their fingers and squeezing. “Okay,” she says, her voice cracking. “I don’t really know what else to ask,” she tries to smile, feeling her lips twitch and seeing Lexa’s curl up in reply, briefly, weakly.

 

Lexa looks at their joined hands resting on the table for a couple of seconds. “I met her at a business gathering,” she then says. “She came home with me.” Clarke lets out a quiet, shuddering sigh, and Lexa’s nose brushes against Clarke’s hair as she leans in, breathing her in, fingers squeezing her hand. “And she was... honest. I’m still not sure how it happened, but we came close to being friends after a while.”

 

Clarke picks up on her wording. “But you weren’t friends? You didn’t cross that line?”

 

She feels Lexa’s lips curl against her temple. She knows it’s a sad smile when she hears her speak. “She couldn’t be friends with me.”

 

Clarke pulls away so she can look at Lexa. “Why? Because of me?” She remembers the night she barged in on them and met Kate for the first and only time. No one wants to be a replacement, even if it’s mostly a mindless hook-up. And especially not when you start to care about the other person.

 

“Partially.” Lexa swallows. “I didn’t want to be anything else but friends, and Kate… She didn’t want to stop at friends.”

 

Clarke tries to ignore the sudden hot fire in her chest at hearing that. “Oh,” she manages.

 

“I understand why you are, but,” Lexa chuckles, “you don’t need to be jealous. I won’t lie - the thought has crossed my mind. Once,” she hurries to say when Clarke’s face changes. “That ship has sailed the last night I spent with her.”

 

Clarke carefully considers if she really wants to know what happened that night. If she wants to think about that night and have any knowledge that would make that night real - would make it a thing that has happened, would etch it into her brain. “Why?” Apparently, she does.

 

Lexa searches her face before answering. “That was the night I came to you drunk to the point of passing out.”

 

Flashes of memories flood Clarke’s mind as she blinks, flushing with realization.

 

“I called your name when I was with her.” Lexa briefly looks away. “I felt -- terrible. I knew about her growing feelings for me, and I knew it must’ve felt awful. I thought -- if _you_ had called _me_ some other name in bed--”

 

“Lexa,” Clarke chokes out, immediately reaching out to her, but Lexa meets her halfway, their foreheads touching.

 

“I know,” she says. “I know. But I didn’t know back then, and I couldn’t help it.” She half-smiles. “You were kind of my point of reference to everything, whether I wanted it or not. And so I thought that, and I felt sick to my stomach. I knew then that I wasn’t much better than…”

 

“Than me,” Clarke finishes for her when Lexa falls silent. “You can say it.”

 

“I was using her,” Lexa settles on saying. “While knowing perfectly well what I was starting to mean for her.” She lets out a breath. “We didn’t talk for several weeks after that, and then she called me, out of blue - right after Lincoln and I tore each other a new one and he stormed out.” Her green eyes find Clarke’s, and she sees an apology shining in them. “I didn’t know how to act around you, and the conversation I had with Lincoln opened up some wounds. Kate seemed like a perfect escape.”

 

She catches Clarke when she recoils, as if slapped, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn't do it to her or myself - and at that point, I also couldn’t do it to you. Not anymore.” Her fingers draw soothing circles on Clarke’s forearms as she relaxes, slowly.

 

“Sorry,” she croaks out. “I didn’t mean to--”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Lexa says. “I get it. I’d have the same reaction. Probably worse,” she smiles. “She invited me to her lake house, and we spent the days talking. Sometimes it’s good to have a second opinion.”

 

“Yeah.” Clarke lets out a huge breath. This was -- a lot. “But I’m glad you had someone to rely on.” She watches plump lips curl in a soft smile as she reaches over and tucks Lexa’s loose curls, still wild from sleep, behind her ear. “Speaking of Lincoln. How is he?”

 

She’s grateful when Lexa doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of subject. This really has been _a lot._ She thinks she’d need a few days to process everything. And, frankly, she doesn’t want to talk about Kate anymore, even though she is genuinely glad she was there for Lexa when she couldn’t.

 

Lexa’s smile fades a touch. “We’re… dealing,” she says slowly. “He’s doing better. Coming to terms with the fact that he _did_ fuck up and it’s not just me being weak for you.” She visibly hesitates before continuing, and when she does, Clarke understands why. “I was thinking of approaching him about having dinner with us. Relatively… soon.”

 

Clarke fights against the urge to hug herself. “How relatively soon are we talking?”

 

“Next week?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Lexa raises one eyebrow. “Okay?”

 

“I trust you,” Clarke shrugs. “If you trust in him, then I do, too.”

 

“Thank you.” The sincere gratitude in Lexa’s voice makes Clarke’s smile widen. “I don’t think we have much to worry about. Anya’s been helping with him, too.” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. “Surprisingly, she’s taken quite a liking to you. Even though she’s trying very hard to hide it.”

 

Clarke highly doubts it.

 

“Oh,” Lexa’s eyes widen as she remembers something. “I will talk to Anya about Raven tonight.”

 

Clarke tries not to let disappointment wash over her. She’s concerned for her friend, still. It’s just -- _tonight_ means Lexa will have to leave, and she’s not ready for her to do so. Yes, she’s aware Lexa will need to go home at some point, but would it be too terrible if she stayed for a little longer?

 

 _Raven is more important,_ Clarke thinks. Her chest feels a little lighter. “Thank you,” she says, earnestly, and Lexa nods with a smile. Sometimes, Clarke finds herself caught off guard - and in complete disbelief, still - at seeing her being so… open with her. So at ease.

 

She doesn’t know if it’ll wear off. She’s not sure. But she’s sure she’ll try her damn hardest to cherish it as much years from now as she does right now.


	22. part iii chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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“Well,” Dr. Grant starts with a small grin. “You’re looking great today, I must say. Both of you.” She doesn’t miss the way Lexa glances at Clarke, with green eyes sparkling and full lips curled in a hint of a smile. Clarke’s answering one is nothing but radiant. 

“We feel great today, too,” she tells Katherine - and Dr. Grant can’t suppress the urge to arch her brow when they find each other’s hands on the couch without looking. A soft caress, a gentle squeeze, and another look exchanged, shy and bright at the same time. 

They definitely slept together, Dr. Grant thinks with a sigh. Although, if that’s the case, she’ll have to kick herself for telling them not to since this is the result. 

“Alright,” she starts, cautiously. “It seems like you’ve had a breakthrough.” They nod. “Would you like to share what happened?” And so they do. With Lexa’s encouragement, Clarke’s the one who tells her about the letters she’s been writing to her lover all this time. By the time she’s done, Dr. Grant’s left a little bit speechless. More than a little moved, too; the feeling only deepens when Lexa dabs under Clarke’s eyes with a napkin, murmuring something that she can’t quite catch. Perhaps, that’s for the best. She thinks that whatever it was, it was for Clarke to hear and no one else. 

“Wow,” is really the only word she can think of saying at the moment. “Well, it certainly makes me happy to see so much progress in such a short period of time,” she states, earning herself another nod from both of her smiling patients. “I must ask, however. Lexa,” the young woman snaps her gaze up to meet hers when she hears her name. “How did reading Clarke’s letters make you feel? What exactly caused this breakthrough for you?” 

“Oh,” Lexa breathes out with a chuckle. “That’s -- you might want to push your other appointments to Thursday,” she jokes. 

“Honestly, I just might, that’s how curious I am,” Dr. Grant replies, tone matching Lexa’s. Clarke’s laugh is less watery with each passing second. 

“I…” Lexa’s gaze drops to her hand that’s holding Clarke as she clearly tries to form her response. “Reading her letters made me realize what she’s been going through. Not fully, but at least somewhat, you know? It made me see it a little better. I’m not saying that I wasn’t seeing it before, but it was definitely a huge step in that direction.” She chews on her bottom lip. “It was similar to talking with your father, except I was talking with the past you. And I put the past you through enough pain to last you several lifetimes, probably.” 

“So did I,” Clarke whispers. 

“I know,” Lexa says. “And I know you know that. You’re aware of that, and you’re trying to redeem yourself, and you need to go through a lot of healing yourself, and I knew all of that before, but the letters made it so much clearer. They solidified that knowledge.” 

“It’s okay,” Dr. Grant says with a laugh when Lexa leans in to meet Clarke but stop to throw her a questioning look. Seeing such a powerful woman slightly out of her element strangely made her even more likable. “You may kiss as long as you keep it within the confines of my office - and within the PG-13 category, please.” 

There’s pink dusted across Lexa’s cheeks when she pulls away after leaving a chaste kiss on Clarke’s lips. 

Dr. Grant tilts her head to the right, studying them. Clarke looks elated, it’s easy to see. Lexa’s own happiness is muted, whether on purpose or out of habit, Dr. Grant isn’t sure. “I must say, your progress is remarkable,” she comments. “But I feel like I should bring some things up. There will be easy days, but there will be tough days, too. I’m not saying this to be a buzzkill - I’m saying this because I’ve seen it happen. Sometimes, you might relapse, and it’s okay. It’s important to remember that it takes time - a lot of time to rebuild the trust, and no matter what happens, no matter what the voices in your head will be telling you on a bad day, it’s important to remember why you’re doing this. Remember the love you have for each other. Okay?” 

Clarke’s blue eyes are glistening with tears. “Okay,” she says, and Lexa echoes. 

“Is there anything else you would like to discuss before we proceed with some exercises?” 

Lexa shakes her head no. Clarke, however, looks at her and nods. “There’s something I wanted to talk about. I, well -- I don’t know if now’s the time to do that…” 

“Absolutely,” Dr. Grant gestures at her to continue. “Now’s the best time, Clarke.” 

“Okay.” Clarke takes a deep breath, and Lexa’s concerned frown deepens. “The thing is -- on that list of trust-building behaviours that you gave us, there were several ones that concerned finances. And, when you think about it, I basically used you for your money, in a way--” 

“Clarke,” Lexa tries to interject, her eyes widening, but she doesn’t let her interrupt - and Dr. Grant’s very proud of that. 

“No, I need to finish. I think,” she takes another deep breath, “I can’t accept you paying for me, no matter the situation. You know, whether it’s going to the movies or putting a deposit on a house--” her cheeks burn bright pink at that, and Dr. Grant struggles to hide her smile, “--I feel like in order to have a healthy relationship, we need to split the costs evenly. On everything.” 

Lexa looks contemplative. Clarke continues. “I just thought I’d bring it up as early as possible, so when it comes down to it, we’re on the same page.” 

“Do you really think I consider you, what - a gold digger?” Lexa asks, then, sounding a little incredulous. 

Clarke shrugs. “There are a lot of people who already do.” 

“But that’s not their relationship.” Lexa’s gaze is intense as it meets Clarke’s. “It’s ours. You don’t have to prove--” 

“I need to do this, Lexa,” Clarke whispers. “For you and for me. Not for anyone else.” When Lexa doesn’t reply right away, she presses on. “Don’t tell me it wouldn’t help you, too. Don’t try to lie to me. I get it, Lexa. That is why I want to do this. It’s -- right.” 

Lexa’s voice is soft. “Okay. Fine.” She clears her throat. “But if you demand a prenup, I’m rioting.” 

“Okay,” Katherine says, sensing it’s time to change the subject because Clarke suddenly looks overwhelmed and Lexa’s biting her lower lip almost to the point of breaking the skin. “Last time you were here, you told me you were having some problems with intimacy, so I thought we’d try to do it again. Let’s go easy tonight and try to look each other in the eye for three minutes the first time.” 

They hold each other’s gaze without much difficulty, and leave her office hand in hand. 

//

Some days are easier than the others. Some are harder. Lexa’s still careful around her more often than not, but Clarke tells herself that it’s okay. And Dr. Grant tells them to talk as much as they possibly can, so they try their hardest. It’s getting increasingly difficult with each passing day, however - the fiscal year-end is coming up for Lexa’s company, and that means the CEO is practically living in her office by the time July rolls around. 

Clarke tells herself not to fall into a codependent mindset and tries to constantly keep herself in check. It only results in another near-meltdown. She doesn’t want to tell Lexa about it, but she knows she needs to - and that leads to Lexa coming over, turning her phone off and spending the weekend talking it out. Crying it out, too - mostly from Clarke’s side. Lexa remains stoically supportive. 

“I don’t want us to be toxic to each other again.” 

“Wanting to be around someone isn’t necessarily toxic.” 

“There’s a fine line, though,” Clarke points out, and Lexa agrees. 

That’s another thing that’s been bothering Clarke - aside from the fact that Lexa keeps closing off lately, citing her exhaustion from work, whenever she tries to talk about the way she’s been feeling. Lexa’s taking on the role of Clarke’s rock - again, in a way - and it just doesn’t feel right. They should be each other’s rocks. She should be Lexa’s rock. 

That’s why, riding on both the determination brought on by their weekend together and a whooping three hours of sleep, Clarke thinks fuck it and shows up at Lexa’s doorstep with dinner. Lexa’s not home yet, but she should be here in several minutes - Clarke’s checked with her. She really hopes she didn’t give herself away in the process. 

Judging by the way Lexa’s eyes widen when the elevator doors slide open, not in the slightest. 

“Clarke?” 

She lifts her bags. “Dinner. Ice cream.” Her smile becomes a smirk. “Maybe a foot massage if you’re lucky.” 

Lexa’s laugh is soft and crystal clear. “Sounds perfect.” She falls asleep halfway through the movie without finishing her ice cream, and Clarke lets her nap as she cleans up. But couches, even the one as comfy as Lexa’s, aren’t made for sleeping, and Clarke’s not strong enough to carry her to bed, no matter how much she wishes she were. 

Green eyes are hazy as they flutter open when Clarke gently coaxes her out of her sleep. “Hey,” she whispers, smiling. Her fingers reach out to comb through silky brown waves, almost of their own accord, and her smile only widens when Lexa lets out the smallest yawn that finishes with a sound she can only describe as a soft mewl. 

“...hi.” 

“You should go to bed,” she tells her, brushing her hair off her face and tucking it behind her ears. 

“S’okay,” Lexa breathes as she tries to sit up. “I’m awake. Here. I’m awake.” She finally manages to focus her eyes on Clarke, and she can’t help it. Having this woman before her, stripped of the guard she carries around like armor, is irresistible - and she doesn’t even think before leaning in and softly pressing her lips to hers.

Lexa hums when she pulls away, a small, sleepy smile spreading on her face. So she kisses her again. And again. And again, till her lungs burn and Lexa’s not adorably drowsy anymore, but sensually pliant in her arms, eyes still hooded but no longer droopy. Excited. Inviting. 

There’s a trail of goosebumps where Lexa’s hand ventures up her neck, only for her fingers to get tangled up in Clarke’s hair as she tugs her down, and they are kissing again, with more and more urgency with each tilt of Lexa’s head as she angles for a deeper kiss. Lexa makes no movement to flip them over; there’s no sparkle of steel in her eyes that usually - inevitably - appears when she’s like this, soft and yearning for Clarke’s touch before remembering, and it would be so easy-- 

“Lexa,” she pants, breaking the kiss and putting a hand against her chest. Lexa’s heart is hammering away under her touch, and she shudders with that knowledge. She did this. It’s because of her. It’s for her. “You’re exhausted. You need to sleep.” 

Green eyes are dark, unreadable, as they search hers, and Clarke shrinks inwardly, both unsure and frankly scared of what her reply might be. “Okay.” 

Okay.

Clarke’s heart stumbles, almost drowns - but whether in relief or disappointment, she doesn’t know. “Okay,” she echoes. Nods and stands up, offering Lexa a hand and swallowing when she accepts, standing up with the usual lithe grace of hers and coming up to stand in front of Clarke. Close. So close their noses would be touching if Clarke took a small half-step forward. 

She doesn’t. 

“Stay?” Lexa’s eyes are questioning. 

“I -- I already got an uber.” her tongue refuses to work around the obvious lie, but she makes it. Lexa’s gaze is heavy, hot, too hot, and she knows that staying is the worst idea right now. 

“Okay.” Word of the fucking day. She knows, though - she knows that if Lexa was ready, she would insist on her staying. And she isn’t. So she’s not. Ready, that is. 

And if Clarke spends another night in such close proximity to her; another night under this gaze, vibrant green and hungry - she’ll combust. 

Whatever happened to being her rock? 

That’s exactly what I’m doing, Clarke tells herself. We might do something we’ll regret tomorrow. She’s half-awake and vulnerable and too tired to think clearly, and me being here isn’t good for her.

Lexa would probably tell her openly if she was ready to be… intimate with her again. Perhaps, she’s not sure if she is, and she’s leaving it up to Clarke - but Clarke won’t make the final decision. 

Lexa blinks. Closes her eyes, briefly, and steps away from her, slowly exhaling - and when she opens them, Clarke can finally breathe. They are no longer intensely heady. Just tired. With a hint of regret. “I’m sorry. I really am a little out of it.” They both know what she’s really sorry for, though - but Clarke doesn’t mind. 

“It’s okay.” She smiles. “You should rest. I’ll see you later.” She presses a small kiss to Lexa’s cheek as a goodbye, and tells herself her hand against Lexa’s stomach is for support. 

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is soft, almost small, but it stops her in her tracks. She turns. “Thank you for tonight. I had fun.” 

They both know what she’s thanking her for. 

“You’re more than welcome. I had fun, too.” 

// 

“And you just left?” Raven’s watching her with incredulous eyes as she downs another shot. “Why?” 

Clarke gives her an incredulous look of her own. “Because I don’t want her to regret sleeping with me?” 

Her best friend shrugs at that. “I don’t know, it seems like she was pretty fucking ready to get it on before you straight up rejected her.” Clarke can practically feel her own face turn sour, and Raven hurries to continue. “I mean - anything but that. Sorry.” 

“You’re kind of wound up tonight,” Clarke notes. “What’s up?” 

“Look who’s talking.” She laughs as she dodges the pillow Clarke clumsily throws at her. “It’s nothing. I’m still waiting for a call from Anya.” 

Clarke tries not to flinch at that. “I thought they already called you last week.” 

“Yeah - to tell me they are still deciding! Who does that?” 

Clarke shrugs. “Someone who really wants you to work for them and doesn’t want you to look for a job somewhere else?” 

“Well then just fucking hire me, goddammit.” Raven’s got a tendency to swear when she’s agitated. It never fails to make Clarke chuckle. She catches the pillow Raven chucks back at her. “Yeah, it kind of sucks,” she admits. “But they had valid reasons, right?” 

“Kinda,” Raven mumbles. “Whatever. If they don’t call me this week, I’m accepting Wick’s offer. The pay is lower, but it’s a pretty good one, too. Solid.” 

“They’ll call,” Clarke nudges her. “I’m sure they will.” 

“Yeah,” Raven still doesn’t look convinced. It’s clear she doesn’t really want to talk about it, either. When she changes the subject, Clarke’s proven right. “So what’s up with you ditching Lexa?” 

“I didn’t ditch her,” Clarke jumps up to her own defense. She didn’t. “It just… didn’t feel right.” 

“Jesus,” Raven rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re seventeen years old virgins. You might as well be, though, at the rate you’re going.” 

“That’s physically impossible,” Clarke deadpans. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Raven winks, and waggles her eyebrows, so exaggeratedly that Clarke has no choice but to burst out laughing. “For real, though.” 

“I just don’t think we’re there yet.” Clarke sighs. “And I didn’t want to feel like shit, you know? And that’s exactly what it feels like when she pushes me away. It makes me feel… cheap. Unwanted. Fucking… inadequate,” she sighs again, giving Raven a weak smile when she rubs her back. 

“Let it out, babe.” 

Clarke shrugs. “There’s not much else to it. I just - I guess I sensed that she would freak out once I made a move, and I didn’t want that for either of us. But if I stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to help myself, and neither would she.” 

“And then both of you would be feeling like shit and hating yourselves.” 

“Something like that.” 

“Damn,” Raven breathes. “Remind me to cancel my Netflix subscription. I don’t need that when I got you.” She smiles to show she’s kidding - mostly, and all Clarke does is slap her shoulder, half-heartedly.

“Ass.” She leans back, closing her eyes. She can feel whiskey cruising through her veins. Buzzing. “Seriously, though, Rae, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” 

“Walking away from her?” 

“Yeah.” Her eyes are still closed, and her mind helpfully supplies her with images of last night. Lexa, with her back arched and her lips swollen with kisses they’ve traded, looking at her both with want and trepidation. It felt like they were threading a line more delicate than Lexa’s neck. It felt dangerous. 

That was what made it all the more exciting, Clarke thinks. She wonders if Lexa thinks the same. She wonders if, deep down, Lexa wants it as much as her - and if she’s just as ashamed of admitting it to herself. 

“Geez, Griffin,” Raven pokes her side. “I can practically see what your imagination’s come up with, and, not gonna lie, it’s pretty fucking hot, but could you please stop fucking Lexa in your mind and come back to Earth? We got half the bottle to go.” 

“Raven.” Clarke lifts her head up and opens one eyes to squint at her. “We’re not finishing the whole bottle.” 

“So you keep saying.” 

She chooses to ignore that. Instead, she closes her eyes again. “You know what’s weird?” She asks, suddenly. 

“Besides your relationship with Lexa?” When Clarke glares at her, she lifts her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“Let’s just safely assume that it’s always too soon.” 

“We might have to friend-break up in the nearest future, then,” Raven snorts, but quickly becomes serious. “Sorry. Really. What’s weird?” 

“I don’t really… know a whole lot about Lexa. No -- I mean, I know her. I know what she likes and doesn’t like, I know what she stands for, what she’s passionate about, but I only know small snippets about her past.” She doesn’t even know what it came from. Probably the last couple of whiskey shots and some free time to think now that their relationship isn’t as rocky. She’s had far too many things to deal with in the present to really give any thought to the past. 

“Well then ask her,” Raven shrugs as she leans back in her chair, exhaling. “Damn. I could go for a couple of hits right about now.” She looks at Clarke. “You?” 

“Hell no,” she immediately shoots the idea down. “Weed makes me do stupid shit.” 

“So do you,” Raven doesn’t pass up an opportunity to tease her, but Clarke only rolls her eyes. 

“You know,” she says, slowly. “I think I figured it out.” Raven only hums, questioningly, and she continues. “We’ve reached this phase in our relationship where we’re mostly comfortable with each other again, and so I think -- I think I could start courting her.” 

“Courting?” 

“I swear to god, Raven, if you laugh…” 

“No, no,” Raven’s smiling, but at least she’s not cackling, and Clarke decides to take it as a win. “I think it’s adorable. Very sweet.” 

“Thanks,” Clarke grumbles, because she’s not entirely sure it could be taken as a compliment. “Anyways. I’m going to take her out this weekend, if she’s not too busy.” 

“Or you could grow some balls and kidnap her. What? That’s romantic!” 

“Also very illegal,” Clarke points out. 

Raven huffs. “Fine. Be lame. Arrange the kidnapping with the one you’re kidnapping. I still stand by my words.” 

“Don’t you always?” Clarke arches a brow. 

“And don’t you forget it.”


	23. part iii chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
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The idea seemed brilliant at the time. As the execution inches closer, however, her self-doubt is skyrocketing. But, hey – nothing new here. Especially when it comes to Lexa.

(She swears, every goddamn week she’s got brand new material to discuss with Dr. Grant during her individual sessions.)

 _This is stupid,_ she harshly tells herself, clutching the picnic basket’s handle as she steps out of the car. _A little spontaneity never hurt anyone. What’s the worst that could happen?_

She tries not to think about the well-known fact that these are the famous last words before something terrible actually does happen.

Raven calls her just as she’s about to knock on Lexa’s door. “ _I got it! I got the job!_ ”

For a second, Clarke forgets about her nerves. “Oh my God! Really?”

“ _No, it’s a prank,_ ” Raven says dryly. “ _What the fuck do you mean_ really _?_ ”

Clarke laughs. “Sorry,” she says. “Sorry, I’m just – I’m so happy for you. I know how much this means to you.”

“ _Thanks, Clarke_.” She can hear a genuine smile in her friend’s voice, and it makes her smile as well. “ _What are you up to? I say you come over with a giant pizza and outrageously expensive wine that I know for a fact you can afford_.”

“Oh, um,” she hesitates at that. On one hand, there’s a surprise she’s been planning for a week. On the other hand, Raven’s been waiting for this for much longer. She sighs. “Yeah. I’ll be right over, give me twenty minutes or so--”

The door in front of her opens just before she turns around and leaves. “I thought I heard you,” Lexa says, managing to keep most of her surprise out of her voice. She gives her a quick once-over, a lopsided grin appearing on her lips when she notices the picnic basket. “Well… Hi?”

“I, uh – hi,” Clarke stumbles, eyes wide. This is so not how she’s imagined it going.

“ _Is that Lexa? Shit, am I interrupting?”_

“No, no, you’re fine, I just…” Clarke sighs into the phone. Before she can say anything else, Raven’s talking again.

 _“Dude, you should’ve told me. It’s cool, I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell her I said hi._ ”

“Raven--” Clarke tries again, shooting Lexa an apologetic glance, who just looks more and more amused.

 _“Clarke, it’s okay,”_ Raven says, smiling. “ _I kind of sprang it on you. Call me tomorrow, okay?”_

She surrenders. “Okay. First thing in the morning.”

Raven snorts. _“Don’t even try me before lunch.”_ And promptly hangs up, leaving Clarke alone with a smiling Lexa. “Um,” she says. “Hi?”

Lexa chuckles as she steps closer to her, and some of the tension evaporates from her body when she slowly entwines her arms around her waist. “Hi,” she whispers before leaning in for a soft, slow kiss. Clarke sighs, almost involuntarily, when they part. “I was wondering why you were so adamant about finding out whether I was home.”

“Now you know,” Clarke chuckles, raising the basket up to show it to Lexa, even though she’s already seen it. “It’s a beautiful day outside.”

Lexa’s gaze sparkles with something that fills Clarke’s chest to the brim. “It is.”

 

//

They end up going to the park where Lexa took her on their third date. She doesn’t know if Lexa considered it a date, but she definitely does. She remembers the snow covering the cold ground as they sat on a bench and ate burgers. Sounds bizarre now that she thinks about it.

The memory leaves a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, she’s not going to lie. Everything they did back then was based on a lie; but she also knows that it’s something that she has to move past if she wants Lexa and her to make it. And – knowing and _feeling_ are two different things, yes, but she finds herself thinking her heart’s finally catching up with her head.

And really, what better way to move on than to reclaim all of the spots tainted with her lie and fill it with truth?

She smiles down at Lexa when she hears her hum. “This is nice,” she breathes. Clarke continues to massage her temples and scalp as she lays her head in her lap.

“It is,” she agrees. It definitely helps to make people relax, and there’s no doubt someone with levels of stress as high as Lexa’s deserves a moment of relaxation.

Lexa almost falls asleep, and Clarke almost lets her. It’s the thought that the ground wouldn’t do Lexa’s back any good that has her gently shaking Lexa out of her slumber. Of course, Lexa refuses to cooperate at first.

Of course, Clarke almost melts, but in the end, Lexa’s wellbeing wins.

“I’m not that old,” Lexa grumbles as she groggily sits up, blinking. “I could handle a couple more hours.”

“I’d rather you not risk it,” Clarke tells her with a smile. “Aw, you’re so grumpy when you’re sleepy. It’s adorable.”

Lexa shoots her a sour look. “I am not adorable,” she protests. Clarke only laughs.

“Is being adorable really the worst thing in the world?” She asks, before gently tucking an unruly brown lock behind Lexa’s ears. “Or is the concept so foreign to you? You must’ve been called that once or twice.”

_Smooth, Griffin. Real smooth._

Lexa’s smile fades, just a little, and her gaze briefly drops to the blanket they are sitting on. “Once or twice,” she echoes.

Here it is. The opening she’s been trying to find. “By… by _her?_ ”

She thinks it shouldn’t surprise her how easily Lexa can read her. Green eyes search hers. Then, she sighs. “Is there something you want to ask me?” Her tone is soft. Even. Clarke still blinks and bites her lip, feeling as if she was caught -- red-handed.

She sighs, too. “There’s just something I’ve been thinking about,” she starts quietly. Lexa leans back on her hands, studying her. She thinks it’d be much more difficult if Lexa didn’t have such expressive eyes, because her face is a stoic mask. Clarke doesn’t blame her, though. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be an easy conversation, and that’s how Lexa is. She doesn’t expect her to change overnight. “How -- we’ve never really talked about your past… relationships. Or – not all of them, but the one you loved.” Words feel big and clumsy to wrap her tongue around.

Lexa continues to watch her. She doesn’t tense up, doesn’t shut down, and Clarke chooses to see that as a win. Yet, there is this air around her – more serious, a little bit guarded – that makes unease spread through Clarke’s chest.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked.

But then, Lexa sighs and sits straight. “What do you want to know?” It’s just a question. It’s not filled with annoyance, or exasperation – Lexa’s tone is even and calm, if a little tired. But Clarke’s already in her head about this.

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely. “I shouldn’t have -- we don’t need to talk about it.”

Lexa’s hand on hers and Lexa’s eyes on hers make her go still. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” Lexa tells her quietly, but with an undercurrent of urgency for her to _understand._ “If anything, you’re the person I’d like to share this with, Clarke. But this is not the place to do that. Or the time. I promise,” her thumb softly strokes the back of her hand. Light. Gentle. “I promise we’ll talk about it. And anything else you want to talk about.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, because – this might escalate well beyond their control, but she can’t _not_ bring it up. “That’s the thing, Lexa,” she says, trying to stay calm. “I don’t want to talk about what _I_ want to talk about. I want to talk about things _you_ want to talk about.”

Lexa blinks. “That was a lot of _talk about._ ”

“Lexa,” Clarke huffs. “I’m being serious.”

“Me too.” Green eyes stay trained on hers as full lips from a small smile. “We’ll discuss what both of us want to discuss, but some things are…” Lexa drawn in a breath before finishing, “…in due time.” It doesn’t feel like she’s merely placating her. Lexa wouldn’t, she knows that. There’s still some leftover frustration left, however, but now, there’s also a swirl of fresh guilt in the mix.

“I didn’t want to pressure you into talking,” she says quietly, eyes downcast. Lexa’s fingers under her chin make her look up. Lexa’s smiling.

“I know,” she says. “And you weren’t doing that.” Clarke leans into her palm when she cups her cheek, leisurely trailing her gaze over her face. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Clarke believes her.

//

She doesn’t bring Lexa’s first love up anymore, figuring Lexa will start the conversation herself if she feels like it. She – honestly, she doesn’t even know why it was so important to her at the time. Perhaps, it’s just the fact that it’s clearly one of Lexa’s most treasured memories – yet it also feels like there’s some heartache involved – but Lexa should be the one to choose to share it.

The guilt intensifies, for a short period of time, but Clarke’s slowly learning how to battle it and keep moving on. Dr. Grant is definitely helping. At one of their early sessions, she’s suggested that Clarke’s basically addicted to guilt at this point.

Clarke was mind-blown. It made more sense than anything, ever before, and she thinks there was an audible _click_ in her brain as everything shifted into place.

“You’re using it as a toxic, self-destructive crutch,” Dr. Grant tells her. The woman, while pleasant and genuinely warm, doesn’t hold back any punches. As usual. “It’s your brain’s – and heart’s – first response to anything. And at times, it can get ugly, having that as something to lean on. Guilt can very quickly turn into self-pity.”

Dr. Grant’s seen it happen, she tells her. Guilt-riddled people depending on their nearest and dearest to constantly reassure them; and having their minds soothed becomes another drug of its own.

If there’s one thing Clarke doesn’t want, it’s that. Being a burden with a hidden victim’s mentality. She thinks that was one of the turning points for her. Letting go of her guilt and blame became easier and easier ever since that fateful talk.

“So this is rehab, essentially,” she tells Dr. Grant, and the woman laughs.

“You could say that, yes.”

For some reason, Raven found it hilarious. She kept demanding Clarke roll up her sleeves – which, what sleeves in this fucking weather, Clarke countered. What she did roll was her eyes the first couple of times before finally pointing out jokes like that were more than a little insensitive. Not to Clarke personally, but – she’s seen addicts come into the emergency room. It’s not pretty, and it’s definitely the furthest thing from funny.

Sometimes, Raven can be over the top, but she thinks they wouldn’t be friends if she weren’t. Raven’s also a self-sufficient and fairly self-dependent person – at times, extremely, but that’s another story – and Clarke, with some help from Dr. Grant, comes to realize that she doesn’t need to worry about Anya and her possible plan of revenge.

Because, essentially, she’ll be making the same mistake Lincoln made. Not trusting Raven enough to make her own decisions. Treating her like a baby. She’s done what she could – told her friend who Anya was. From now on, Raven can figure things out herself, and Clarke doesn’t have a right to butt in. Besides, asking Lexa to talk to Anya about it was just plain stupid, and she lets her know about that.

“So you don’t want me to ask her about it,” Lexa says.

Clarke sighs. “A part of me still does, but, honestly, if it’s actually a part of her grand revenge, she’s not going to admit it to you anyway, and if it’s not, which is more than likely… Her opinion of me is low enough already.”

Lexa smiles and presses a chaste kiss to the side of her head. “I’m telling you, she likes you.”

“Right.”

“See for yourself,” Lexa says, stepping away from her and checking on their dinner. “This weekend.”

There’s an already-familiar feeling of dread pooling in her stomach, but Clarke pushes it down, chuckling instead and rubbing her hands together to stop her fingers from growing numb. “You think you’re smooth, don’t you?” She asks, sliding behind her and leaving a small, teasing nip at the nape of her neck. Lately, they’ve been growing more and more comfortable with those small displays of affection. Clarke’s heart still soars at having Lexa merely smile at her and touch her in return instead of shying away.

“Usually, I do,” Lexa chuckles, “but I must admit, this is not my proudest moment.”

“So, dinner with the family, huh?” Clarke asks, then, pressing closer to her. It’s not sexual. Well – considering the amount of time they’ve gone without it and Clarke’s nearly-abnormal sex drive every time she’s around Lexa, every little thing is sexual to _her,_ but she’s trying not to be too transparent.

She’s failing, if Lexa’s small catch of breath is any indication. “Yeah,” she tells her in a voice that’s dropped lower than before. “Lincoln’s been asking about you. In a mild, non-threatening way.”

“That’s reassuring,” Clarke scoffs. Lexa turns around in her arms. Gives her a gentle smile and tucks a blonde lock behind her ear.

“It’s gonna be fine,” she tells her. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to do that yet, though.”

“I know I joke around, but I do want to do that, Lexa.” Their hands find each other, and it never ceases to amaze Clarke how in sync they are becoming. Just like before, but so much better. “I know how important it is for you. And it’s important to me, too. I do actually like them. Yes, Lincoln, too.”

Lexa nods and leaves a small, grateful kiss on her lips. Then, she grins. “When we were in college, there was a girl – she liked us both. It was weird.”

Clarke doesn’t find it all that shocking. They _are_ both gorgeous. “Well, I definitely don’t like him in that way, but I can’t blame her. What happened next?”

“Well,” Lexa starts slowly, “Lincoln had a girlfriend at the time.”

Clarke studies her with a smirk. “You slept with her, didn’t you.”

“A little bit,” Lexa replies, and Clarke laughs.

“College Clarke and college Lexa would’ve had a ball, probably,” she says, leaning in and sighing when she feels Lexa’s arms wrap around her in a cozy embrace.

“You wouldn’t have liked me, I think.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d like any version of you.”

She understands what Lexa’s doing, and she hopes the kiss she gives her lets her know how much she appreciates it. Lexa’s unveiling her past through small snippets and bits, and Clarke’s happy to let her do that at any pace she finds comfortable. She’s also a little surprised when she doesn’t feel the usual tight coil of jealousy in her chest when Lexa mentions being with someone else. Surprised, and glad. Whether it’s the sing of her maturing or moving on from projecting her doubts and insecurities, she doesn’t know, but she’s happy. She thinks that after everything they’ve been through – are still going through – petty jealousy over something that was so many years ago is the furthest thing on her mind.

(She wonders if she’d be that calm seeing Kate interact with Lexa, but she quickly shuts the thought down.)

“I think I would like any version of you, too,” Lexa says quietly when they part, and Clarke has to kiss her again.

//

Lexa wisely chooses not to have dinner in a restaurant. Clarke doubts they’d appreciate dealing with a corpse or two if the evening deteriorates. Okay, she’s exaggerating. Mildly.

She’s nervous. She didn’t expect to be this nervous. “How do I look?” She asks Raven who’s lounging on her bed. This feels familiar, she thinks. She remembers three of them in her room, excited about one of her early dates with Lexa – at a high-end gala, no less. Except Octavia’s not here now. It’s been so long since they last talked – and Clarke has a feeling it won’t be soon, either. They’ve been drifting apart for a long time. Even before Lexa’s appeared and changed -- _everything._ Clarke does know she’s preparing to move to another city because of work. She wonders, sometimes, if she’ll ever call to tell her that herself.

“Eh,” Raven tells her, and laughs as she catches a pair of jeans Clarke chucks at her. “Domestic violence is not the answer, Griffin.”

“Bite me,” Clarke mutters, turning around and critically surveying herself in the mirror. They are going to have dinner at Lexa’s apartment, so it’s going to be more of a casual thing, but she still wants to look good for her.

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t approve,” Raven replies to her earlier remark. Calrke throws her a look over her shoulder.

“Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.” Does that skirt really go with this blouse? Should she be wearing a blouse? It’s a dinner, not a job interview, for fuck’s sake.

“Good to know.” Raven comes up to stand behind her. “Why the blouse? It’s hot outside, Clarke.”

“Ugh,” she groans as she goes back into her walk-in closet. “Maybe I should just cancel.”

“Chill,” her friend orders. “No matter what you wear, it’s not going to make Lexa like you any less.” She’s silent for a second, before: “Or make her family like you any more. Let’s be real.”

“Thanks.” The word drips with sarcasm, which is exactly what Clarke’s going for. “You’re a life-saver.”

“Sure am, and I’m gonna prove it,” Raven states, walking into the closet as well. “Just wear this,” she says, grabbing a piece of cloth off the rack and shoving it in Clarke’s arms.

She just stares at her. “Little black dress? Again?”

“Well,” Raven scratches her neck, having the decency to look a little sheepish. “I never claimed to be versatile when it comes to looks.”

Clarke sighs. “I’ll just go with a sundress,” she says, looking around. There’s a flash of yellow, and she takes it out, feeling the light fabric with her fingers. Simple, sunny, still presentable. Perfect. “It’s summer. Sundresses are all the rage.”

“I guess,” Raven shrugs.

Clarke doesn’t let that deter her. She shoos her away so she can change. Raven only laughs since, according to her, “ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before, Griffin,” but does comply. Clarke suspects it’s just so she can rummage through her fridge. She was expecting that, though – that’s why she always has Raven’s favorite beer on the ready.

While her friend is on her way to getting happily buzzed, she quickly tugs the dress on and checks herself out. Not bad. Not bad at all. Besides, Raven is right. It won’t make Lincoln hate her any less.

Did she mention she was nervous? Scratch that. She’s absolutely terrified.


	24. part iii chapter 10

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_Well, this isn’t awkward at all,_ Clarke thinks to herself as she takes another sip of wine. That, of course, is meant to be as sarcastic as humanly possible.

Anya clears her throat, and everyone looks at her, surprised. Clarke’s pretty sure not one single person here expects _her_ to be the saving grace of the evening. She thinks even _Anya_ herself doesn’t expect to be that. Yet, she’s the one who attempts to get the conversation going. “I would like to thank you for arranging this, Lexa,” she says, looking at her. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“You’ve always been a great liar,” Lincoln mutters into his glass. He’s opted for water tonight, which Clarke couldn’t help but notice. She wonders what that means. Is it because he doesn’t want to cause a scene, or is it because he doesn’t want to lower his guard around her?

She should probably stop being so paranoid.

Lexa stares at her brother, impassive. “Lincoln,” she says, evenly, and Clarke feels her stomach twist with apprehension. _If there was ever the time to use the phrase ‘impending doom’, now would be it._

By now, Lincoln imploding is expected. That’s why, when he only sighs and speaks in a calm voice, Clarke’s taken aback. “You know this isn’t working,” he says. Clarke’s kind on inclined to agree with him. “You’re uncomfortable, Anya’s uncomfortable, I’m deeply embarrassed, and Clarke is terrified.”

Clarke blinks. “I’m not _terrified,_ ” she protests. Lincoln only tilts his head to the side, studying her.

“Really,” he says, slowly.

“Well now you’re just purposefully trying to intimidate me. That’s not fair.”

To her surprise, he leans back in his chair, letting a small smile escape. “Ah. There’s the Clarke Griffin I know and…” he trails off, shrugging. “…know.”

Lexa’s face darkens, and Clarke immediately places her hand on hers before she has a chance to tear into him. She definitely doesn’t want to witness yet another falling out between two siblings. That, and Lincoln’s words were completely in jest. There’s a first time for everything, Clarke supposes.

She just shoots him a look.

“If you come to me with a problem,” Anya says, “I expect to hear a solution, too. Or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, I have one,” Lincoln says, looking around the table. “We need to hash it out instead of failing at small talk. I’m not here to sweep things under the rug. I’m here to own up to things I did.”

“Perhaps you and I should’ve had a private discussion before… this,” Clarke suggests, unsure. He shakes his head.

“You would’ve never agreed to meet with me.” Her expression must’ve betrayed her taking offence, because he hurries to explain. “I’m not saying that you’d be scared. I don’t actually think that. I just know you wouldn’t trust me enough.”

Trust. That’s pretty much the running theme of her whole life, it seems. She can’t exactly argue with him on that.

“Look.” Lincoln is focused. Determined. “I will be honest. I don’t trust you, too. Not yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever get there, and I think you understand that.” Clarke does. On top of her hurting the person he probably loves the most in this world, her relationship with Lexa almost cost him his relationship with his sister. It’s a lot to get over. But he’s doing good so far, and Clarke is glad. “But I trust my sister, and that’s something I should have been doing this entire time. Who knows,” he gives her a wry grin, “maybe, if I didn’t nag her about you the first time, she wouldn’t have been so adamant about blindly believing you.”

“Lincoln-” Lexa starts, but he puts his hands up, smiling.

“I’m kidding, mostly. What I’m trying to say is, you know what you’re doing,” he tells her. “And if, after everything she’s done, you’re still willing to believe her, there must be a damn good reason. Besides, you’re the boss,” he shrugs. “You’re capable of making your own decisions. And mistakes.”

Lexa presses her lips together, seemingly not entirely pleased with his words. But she nods at him, accepting it anyway. And Clarke gets it. She didn’t exactly build any illusions coming here. That’s the most she can hope for with Lincoln right now, and it’s more than enough.

She admires how much he, and Anya, care about Lexa, but she just needs them to stay out of their business. They have enough to deal with as it is. And Lincoln just told her without saying it that it’s exactly what he’s going to do. Let Lexa handle it. In his mind, she knows he expects them to crash and burn, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t need approval. They’ll settle for acceptance.

“Thank you,” she tells him, with all the sincerity she can muster. He nods.

Lexa gently squeezes her fingers, catching her eye and smiling.

//

Every day is better than the last. That should’ve been her red flag, Clarke thinks when she runs into Finn on her way to Raven.

It’s actually pretty surprising she hasn’t run into him sooner, even though it is a big city. The universe has plans they are not privy to, Clarke muses.

He looks good. Much better than the last time she saw him, standing in front of her father’s hospital room, disheveled and torn. Now, he’s clean-shaved and neat. And he finally got a haircut. It suits him, she notes absentmindedly.

“Clarke!” he exclaims, surprised. “Hey, how -- how are you? What are you doing here?” He’s smiling, but he doesn’t try to initiate a hug or, what would be even more awkward, a handshake. For that, Clarke is grateful. She wouldn’t feel comfortable with any physical contact.

“There’s a new bar Raven wants to check out,” she points across the street. “So, um, that’s what I’m doing here. And I’m good. Thanks. What are you doing here?”

He smirks. “I live here.” He points somewhere behind her, opposite of the direction she’s headed – another thing to be grateful for. She doesn’t turn to look, instead just giving him a polite nod. “Walking home from work. I started my own advertising company.”

“You did? That’s awesome, Finn.” She feels a smile form on her face. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. She knows that means he feels awkward. She knows way too much about him. “How’s school?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.” There’s no need to tell him about her failing the last semester and thus prolonging her stay, she decides. “It’s school.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “Well, you’re probably in a hurry, but, uh – if you end up liking that bar and coming to this part of town more often, we could have a drink? Catch up.”

She sighs. His sentence started out so great, and then… “Finn, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He quickly backtracks. “Oh, I don’t mean getting back together or anything.” Clarke has to suppress the urge to cringe. “I have a girlfriend, actually.”

She can’t help it. “Me too.” His mouth falls open at that, slightly, but before he has a chance to say anything, she continues. “And that’s why we definitely shouldn’t be getting a drink.”

“I mean,” he shrugs. “We can be friends.” Internally, Clarke’s already cursed her taxi driver out for dropping her off at the wrong side of the street. If she weren’t so lenient about it, saying that it’s fine and she’ll just cross the street, she wouldn’t be here having this conversation that’s quickly turning sour.

“I don’t think we can,” she says. _I don’t think you can_ is there, at the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t want to aggravate him.

Thankfully, instead of coming up with more reasons for them to see each other again, he only sighs after studying her for several seconds. Long, tense seconds. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, at last. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

She only nods. “I really should go,” she says, gesturing at the bar again.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It was good to see you. You look good.”

“Thanks. You too.” She starts to make her way to the crosswalk, about to say goodbye, when he speaks up, stopping her.

“Clarke, I – I just wanted to say that… I’m sorry. For everything I’ve said and done and – for how I’ve handled things back then. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth.” He tries to smile, but his face becomes twisted with emotion, and Clarke swallows.

“I – thank you. I’m sorry, too, Finn. Things… got out of hand.”

Finally, there’s a smile on his lips, even if a sad one. “You shouldn’t apologize for following your heart.”

“Oh,” she blinks. “I wasn’t apologizing for Lexa and I.” Inside, she winces, waiting for him to stumble and make things awkward again, but he surprises her. Instead, his smile becomes kind and genuine, and he looks like himself – like the Finn she remembers, all boyish charm and gentle words and a heart that always chooses the good in the end.

“Good,” he says, and there’s something final about this – but the kind that makes you smile when you walk away. “Have a good life, Clarke.”

“You too,” she says, and smiles back at him. “Goodbye, Finn.”

With that, he turns, and she can hear him whistle quietly as he leaves.

//

Raven throws her hands in the air as soon as she sees Clarke walk in. “I thought you died,” she says as she gestures for her to join her at the bar.

“And so you immediately began to mourn me?” Clarke asks, eyebrow raised as she takes in two empty shots of tequila and two full ones, all in front of her friend. “What’s with the aspiring alcoholic starter pack?”

“We’re celebrating,” Raven tells her, before shoving two of the full shots towards her. “And these are for you.”

Clarke groans. “We drink way too much,” she says, and downs the first shot, wincing when the bitter burn makes its way down her throat. She really should start watching her drinking. But not tonight. Tonight, she kind of needs it to deal with the fact that she just had most of her painful memories stirred up and then immediately – kind of – got the closure she didn’t know she wanted.

Seeing Finn is a lot to deal with for a myriad of reasons.

“You okay? You look kind of rattled,” Raven says as she watches her sit down. Her brown eyes widen when Clarke reaches for the second shot and gulps it down just as quickly as she did the first one. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I saw Finn.” She exhales, letting a shudder run though her at the taste. God, she hates tequila. “Just now. On the street.”

“Whoa.” Raven leans back, straightening on her stool as she regards her friend. “Are you okay? Well, I mean,” she gestures at the empty shot glasses. “Clearly not.”

“I’m actually fine,” Clarke says, thoughtfully. “This was more – I don’t know. For drama effect. And to get this over with.” She glares at Raven. “You know I hate tequila.”

“Not after two more shots,” her friends laughs. “So what happened?”

“Nothing much. He asked how I was, I said fine, asked the same, he’s fine too. Owns a business. Looks like things are going good for him.”

“Alright,” Raven says, slowly. “Sounds good, why are you so riled up, then?”

“I’m not… ugh,” Clarke sighs. Her shoulders sag as she stares at the empty glass in front of her. “I’m – seeing him brought back memories. Bad memories. And, you know, seeing him, and even thinking about him is so weird, because he kinda started everything. You know? He was the one to suggest that dumb plan. I’m not trying to place the blame on him. It’s just – thanks to him I met Lexa, but partially thanks to him I ruined her.”

Raven places a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing her tense muscles. “I don’t know, I kind of think you and Lexa would’ve met somehow down the line,” she notes.

Clarke huffs. “Not helping, Rae.”

“Sorry,” her friend winces. “You know me. My foot is intimately familiar with my mouth. Wow, that came out wrong.”

“Just like I did,” Clarke says dryly.

Raven stares at her for a good half a minute. Then, she starts chuckling, louder and louder before it turns into unrestrained laughter. After a second, Clarke joins in. “Damn, Griffin,” she says when they calm down a bit. “You’re finally joking about this. I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Yeah.” She glances at her hands, thinking. “It was good,” she announces. “Me running into him. Everything just kind of… clicked. And I _am_ glad he was able to move on and start a new life without me. In a way, I ruined him, too.”

“Hell no,” Raven immediately protests. “That one’s on him.”

Clarke really doesn’t want to get into it with her right now. She understands Raven, but she also still remembers the look on Finn’s face when she told him she didn’t love him anymore – she was able to forget, for a while, but the memory is back. Now, however, it’s sweetened with the knowledge that he’s okay, and that he doesn’t hold any resentment. Not towards her, not towards Lexa. “Whatever,” she says out loud. “I’m just glad I can put him behind for good.”

“Hear, hear,” Raven mockingly raises her glass. “You’re better off without that dude, anyway.” She never did like Finn, and Clarke realizes, with piquing curiosity, that she never gave her a reason. An actual reason that wasn’t ‘ _he’s sleazy and you can do better’._ Just as she’s about to ask, however, Raven speaks again. “Good thing Lexa wasn’t around to see you together, am I right?” She chuckles. “That would’ve been like a bad romcom.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’m going to tell her anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Really?” Raven blinks. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“Given our situation, honesty’s not just the best policy. It’s the only possible policy. Besides, nothing happened. Of course, even if something did happen, which is impossible, I still would’ve told her.”

Raven nods, but still makes a whipping noise. She only laughs.

//

When it comes to actually telling Lexa about her run-in with an ex – an ex she essentially cheated on her and plotted with behind her back – she grows increasingly nervous. She paces her living room the next day, phone in hand, as she tries to figure out how to start the conversation.

In the end, she decides to just call her. All she’s doing is stalling, anyway, and stalling is never good.

Lexa picks up on the second ring, and when she speaks, a smile is audible in her voice. “Hi, Clarke.”

She finds herself smiling, too, in spite of her nerves. “Hey,” she breathes out. “I’m not distracting you from anything important, am I?”

On the other end of the line, Lex chuckles. “No, it’s fine. Is everything okay?”

Kind of. “Yeah, yeah, I just – wanted to tell you something.”

“Oh?” Lexa sounds mildly intrigued. “What is it?”

 _Like a band-aid. Just tell her._ “I ran into Finn yesterday. By chance.”

“…oh.” Fascinating how one small word can sound so drastically different. Lexa’s voice is colorless, and Clarke swallows, clutching the phone to her ear. “Okay.”

“I just wanted you to know about it,” she tries again. Lexa’s silent on the other end. “We exchanged a couple of words, and went our separate ways.”

She hears Lexa exhale, noisily, through her mouth, before answering. “Oh,” she says again, and Clarke picks up on the small note of relief. It stings, she won’t lie – knowing that Lexa still has trouble trusting her. Knowing she can shut down that easily at the tiniest possibility of her infidelity. Of course she can’t blame her. She’d be the same. Maybe worse than that. Even thinking about Kate has her stomach filling with dread, sometimes, so in a way, she can even relate.

It still stings.

“So yeah, I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you,” Lexa says. “I--” she cuts herself off, and Clarke can hear another voice, muffled and in the distance. Someone must’ve walked into her office. There’s some shuffling, and then Lexa speaks again, her voice even. “Clarke, I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to call you back, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” she hurries to reply. “Go save the world.”

Lexa chuckles, and she feels relief course through her vein at hearing her do that. “I’d hardly call it that,” she says. “Alright, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye,” she says quietly, and Lexa hangs up before she can contemplate whether or not murmuring an ‘ _I love you’_ would be appropriate.

//

She doesn’t call her back – instead, she shows up at her door, hands in her pockets and shirt sleeves carefully rolled up as she stares at her shoes, waiting for Clarke to open up. Clarke can’t help but steal a second for herself to watch her through the peephole.

“Hey,” she says as she swings the door open, pleasantly surprised. She was kind of ready to climb the wall by the time the day passed by and Lexa still hasn’t called. Now she knows it was because she was driving here.

Lexa lifts her head. “Hi.” She’s smiling, but there’s a tense air around her, and Clarke’s hesitant as she slowly reaches out and touches her arm. She exhales when Lexa takes her hand out of her pocket and entwines their fingers, stepping inside and leaning in first.

“Now that’s a greeting,” she murmurs, smiling against Lexa’s lips when they part. “How was your day?”

“Busy,” Lexa replies, giving her an apologetic look. “There were a lot of things I needed to take care off, so I decided to work though all of it and come see you when I was done instead of calling.”

“Well,” Clarke says, “good _call_.”

“That was terrible,” Lexa says, but she still laughs, and in Clarke’s book, anything that makes Lexa laugh is awesome. And so are her puns. She stands by them.

“Come on,” she says, tugging on Lexa’s hand. “I have beer and pizza.” Lexa’s eyes gleam with barely – and poorly - concealed excitement, and she grins.

Once they reach her couch, Lexa practically melts into it, loosening her tie and taking it off before popping a couple of buttons open. Her throat bobs prettily as she swallows, and Clarke miserably fails at trying not to stare. “It was an insane day,” she sighs. Clarke wordlessly passes her a cold can of beer, and she accepts it with a grateful smile. Clarke hears her open it as she stands up and fishes another can out of her fridge for herself.

“Board of Advisors giving you a hard time again?” she asks as she plops down next to her, sipping on her beer. Lexa grimaces.

“Among other things,” she mutters. “I understand where they are coming from. I don’t necessarily agree with some of them since they are coming from a place of bigoted privilege, but I understand it. Sometimes, it makes me sick.”

“They still want you to cut finding to hospitals?” Clarke half-asks, half-states. More states than asks, really. It’s been an ongoing battle for way longer than she’s been in the picture, and she knows all about it.

“Orphanages, too,” Lexa says, and her grip on her beer can tightens. She closes her eyes, slowly inhaling and exhaling in attempt to calm herself down. “And LGBT youth centers, of course.” She sighs, again, and it’s heavy. “I didn’t want to do it, but I might have to make some changes in the Board.”

Clarke sits closer to her and reaches over, finding her free hand with her own. “I know it must be difficult, but it sounds like that might be the right choice,” she says quietly, catching Lexa’s gaze and giving her a small smile.

“Yes.” Lexa nods, mostly to herself, but her face is still lined with heavy thoughts. She throws her head back and lets out a loud exhale before looking at Clarke again. “Thank you,” she says.

Clarke’s smile grows. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re willing to listen to me. That means more than you think,” Lexa tells her, quietly and sincerely. “So, thank you.” Her gaze drops to their hands as Clarke’s thumb runs across her knuckles. When she lifts her eyes and meets hers, there’s unmistakable softness in them as she leans in, slowly, and finds her lips with her own. They exchange a couple of gentle, unrushed kisses – the kind that doesn’t lead to anything, but says much more than words can.

Clarke can’t help a shuddering sigh when the kiss ends. Warm palm cups her cheek, and she leans into it after pressing a small kiss to it. Green eyes search your face with a smile that quickly fades.

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks.

“I… yeah.” Clarke gently untangles herself from her and sits back, fumbling with her hands a little. “That’s actually what I wanted to ask you. What’s with me seeing Finn yesterday and everything.”

At that, Lexa averts her eyes, but only for a second. When she looks at her again, there’s no stoic mask, contrary to Clarke’s fears. “I won’t lie,” she starts, slowly. “Hearing that wasn’t easy for me. But I’m grateful you chose to tell me.”

“I wouldn’t hide something like that from you,” Clarke says, immediately. “And I want you to know that nothing happened, and nothing can ever possibly happen between me and him.” Her hands find Lexa’s again, and she squeezes. “You’re the _only_ one that I want.”

“Thank you.” Lexa allows a small smile to escape. “It’s, um – the feeling is definitely mutual.”

“Well I’m definitely glad to hear that,” she grins back. “And I know that your mind must have jumped to the worst scenario, and it’s fine. It’s a work in progress.”

Lexa doesn’t reply for several seconds, appearing thoughtful as she contemplates something. Finally, she licks her lips and speaks. “What do you think would be that worst scenario for me?”

Clarke blinks. The conversation is taking a turn she didn’t expect it to make. But Lexa’s gaze is still gentle as she watches her, and her hands are cupping hers reassuringly. “Me cheating on you with him,” she makes herself say out loud, swallowing a lump that grows in her throat. The words almost refuse to leave her mouth. They just – taste _wrong._

Lexa smiles. “When you told me that you ran into him, my first thought was ‘ _she’s leaving me’,_ ” she tells her calmly. “I don’t know why – I mean, your words make more sense, I guess, given everything we’ve been through. But for some reason, I immediately decided that you felt that spark with him that must have been there when you were dating, and so you were calling me to end things.” She glances down at their joined hands. “He certainly would have been an easier option.”

Clarke is at Lexa’s side in an instant, cupping her cheeks and making her look her in the eye. “No,” she says, urgently. “Just – no. He would never _be_ an option. I’m sorry I made you think that,” she whispers, rubbing her cheekbones with her thumbs. “I’m sorry, but – Lexa, it would never happen.” Her eyes search the deep, stormy green. “I want _you._ ”

Lexa’s lips are warm, and she eagerly welcomes them on her own. Lets her swallow her gasp when Lexa’s hands find her waist and tug her closer; closer, until she practically sits on her lap. Her arms circle her shoulders as she arches into her and lets out a small, breathless moan at having Lexa’s fingers graze her lower back. Lexa doesn’t pass up an opportunity to slide her tongue inside her mouth, and Clarke’s next moan is much, much louder. There’s a tiny bell going off in the back of her mind. They shouldn’t. She knows they shouldn’t. But Lexa feels so good, and she’s missed her _so_ fucking much, and—

She’s on her back before she can finish her thought. Lexa’s gaze is wild as it stumbles into hers, and then, they are kissing again. There are deft, quick fingers playing with the hem of her shirt before slowly raising it and finding skin. Clarke doesn’t hold back another moan as Lexa pulls away from her lips, only to latch onto her neck, leaving small nips and soothing kisses as her thigh wedges itself between her knees and _presses_.

The bell disappears, and she cries out, arching into her, grasping at her back and shoulders as she writhes. She grabs Lexa’s shirt, tugging it out of her pants so she can reach under it and touch hot skin. Lexa’s taut as a bowstring, all rippling muscles under soft skin as she moves above Clarke, pressing into her again, and making her see stars while they are still fully clothed.

She needs more. Her fingers dance across Lexa’s tense abs, and she feels her gasp into her neck. She scratches down, lightly, until she reaches her belt buckle. It would be so easy. Just undo it. Slide the zipper down and reach inside to find her ready for her. She must be already dripping – at least Clarke hopes she is.

It would be so easy.

Clarke stills. With her hand that isn’t on Lexa’s belt, she gently brushes chestnut hair aside and finds her chin, lifting it up so she can look her in the eye. Runs a thumb over her kiss-bruised lips, and silently waits.

Lexa takes a deep, steadying breath, and relaxes into her touch. Closes her eyes, and when she opens them, they are no longer unfocused and dark. “You, uh – you said pizza. I mean, you had pizza.”

Clarke nods, with a soft smile. “I do,” she says quietly. “Would you like some?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t move as she holds Clarke’s gaze for a second longer. “Thank you.” She stands up, offering her a hand, but doesn’t let go immediately when Clarke raises to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she says in a low, guilty voice. “I didn’t mean to… I feel like I’ve been teasing you a lot lately, and – I do want you. So much. But I just don’t think I’m fully ready yet.” She brushes Clarke’s hair away from her face before cupping her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. It’s okay, Lexa.” She needs a cold shower and perhaps a vibrator after this, but it is okay. She will never rush her. “You need time, and it’s okay.”

Lexa steps closer to her, and her arms entwine her waist as she rests their foreheads together. “I love you,” she whispers. It sounds tentative. A little hesitant. But – real. It sounds real.

Clarke bites her lower lip, not wanting her emotions to get out of hands. “I – I love you, too,” she whispers back, tightening her arms around Lexa. If going her whole life without sex meant she got to hold her like this, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

They stand there for a while longer, eyes closed as they breathe each other in.


	25. part iii chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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“ _You won’t believe this.”_ Lexa sounds equally incredulous and amused when Clarke picks up the phone. “ _Anya just left my office, and you won’t believe this._ ”

“She told you about Raven.”

Lexa’s pout is audible in her voice, and Clarke grins as she pours herself some water. “ _How did you know?_ ”

“Logic, mostly,” Clarke says, taking a small sip. Work has been hectic, and she’s happy to have a minute to herself. Especially if she spends that minute with Lexa, even if only on the phone. “Ordinary people also apply it sometimes, miss CEO.” Lexa huffs, and she chuckles. “Alright, I’ll stop. What did she tell you?”

“ _Apply logic_ ,” Lexa grins on the other end, causing Clarke to burst with laughter. She chuckles along as she waits for her to calm down before continuing. “ _She shared some… concerns that may or may not have to do with workplace romances being frowned upon. You guess how your friend plays into it._ ”

“Oh my God,” Clarke barely stops herself from laughing again as she imagines Anya, usually perfectly put-together Anya, nervously pacing Lexa’s office as she pours her heart out. “She likes her.”

“ _That would be an understatement_ ,” Lexa notes dryly, “ _but yes. And she’s rather rattled. And she asked me to ask you if Raven talked about her. I swear, sometimes it’s like I’m running a kindergarten._ ”

Clarke can’t hold her laughter any longer. “I’m sorry, it’s just – I can’t even imagine Anya telling you all this. I hope you have cameras in your office.”

“ _I don’t, actually,”_ Lexa says. The newfound knowledge almost takes Clarke’s train of thought in a vastly different direction, but she forces herself to ignore it. For now. Later, when she’s alone in her room, though…

“Well, anyway,” she clears her throat and winces at how loud her voice suddenly becomes, “um, Raven definitely likes Anya. Do what you will with that information. And I’m definitely feeling third grade right now.”

Lexa sighs on the other end. Clarke imagines her shake her head and pinch the bridge of her nose when she speaks again. “ _I’d rather stay out of it_.”

“You read my mind.”

“ _Yes. Anyway_ ,” Lexa clears her throat. She sounds a little unsure, a little tentative, but not in a way that makes Clarke’s stomach coil with guilt. It’s the adorable kind of unsure, as Clarke’s dubbed it in her head. Like when she doesn’t know what to do with her hands and ends up shoving them in her pockets. Like when almost a year ago, when she wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure she’d welcome it. “ _I’m also calling to ask if you’re free this evening_.”

“Why, Miss Woods,” Clarke grins into the phone. “Sounds like you are about to propose we break the _one date per week_ rule.”

Lexa lets out a playful scoff. “ _I’m pretty sure we broke it a month ago_ ,” she says. “ _The amount of non-dates we’ve had far outweighs the number of actual dates._ ” And she’s right. They unanimously decided not to tell Dr. Grant for now. Clarke thinks that with their progress, she wouldn’t have minded, but, well. Just in case.

“So is it a non-date or a date?” She can’t help but tease Lexa. Secretly, she’s hoping to prolong their conversation.

She holds in a giggle when she hears a sigh. “ _Clarke._ ” Lexa’s smile is audible in her voice, even if she tries to make it sound exasperated. “ _Are you free or not_?”

“Of course I am,” she chuckles. “Whether it’s a date or a non-date.”

“ _I guess we’ll figure it out as we go. But I, um, I actually wanted to discuss something_.”

Clarke’s smile fades. She clutches the phone, feeling her heart squeeze anxiously. _This is it,_ she thinks bitterly to herself. _This is one of the moments that shatter the illusion of normalcy._

She’s pretty sure most normal couples don’t react to the word _discuss_ with dread.

“Sure,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “What time do you want to stop by?”

“ _Around seven. Would you like me to bring anything?_ ”

“Wine,” Clarke replies, immediately. Whatever the discussion is, she’s not sure she wants to go through it completely sober. Might be immature and childish, but right now, she doesn’t care. Sue her.

“ _Okay_.” Lexa sounds a little surprised, but agrees. “ _I--_ ”

“Clarke?” She whips around at the sound of her mother’s voice. Abby Griffin is standing behind her in the hallway, her stare mildly judgmental. “Here you are. We have a staff meeting in five, did you forget?”

“ _This is your cue to leave, isn’t it,_ ” Lexa says.

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs. She quickly nods at her mother. “I have to go. See you at seven.”

“ _Yes_.” Lexa’s smiling. She wouldn’t be smiling if the impending discussion were about a break-up, right? “ _Have a good… rest of the day_.”

“You, too.” She wants to finish with an _I love you,_ but it feels weird under the scrutiny of her mother, so she simply whispers _bye_ and listens to Lexa do the same before hanging up.

Abby’s staring at her with a cocked eyebrow. She sighs. “Sorry,” she says, not really sounding like it. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

//

She’s mostly calmed down by the time Lexa arrives. There’s still that unpleasant anticipation nagging at her, but she shuts it away in the back of her mind, telling herself for what feels like a hundredth time that she doesn’t have anything to worry about. If she did, Lexa would’ve told her beforehand. She wouldn’t have made her wait and agonize over it, and she wouldn’t have wished her a good day before they hung up.

_Right?_

Right now, watching Lexa fumble with her hands and not meet her eyes as they sit at the table – right now, she’s not so sure.

Finally, she can’t take it anymore. If Lexa’s here to break up with her, she’d rather she did it quick. That would leave her plenty of time to attempt to die of alcohol poisoning once she leaves. “Okay,” she sighs, standing up and dragging her chair closer to Lexa, gingerly sitting down and catching her eye. “Something’s bothering you.”

Lexa’s throat tenses and bobs as she swallows. “I wouldn’t put it like that,” she says with an apologetic chuckle. Then, she breaths out, and Clarke grasps at her fingers when she entwines them. “I’m freaking you out, aren’t I?”

“A little bit,” Clarke admits quietly. Lexa doesn’t recoil from her hand when she places it on her shoulder, and her touch grows more confident as she rubs up and down her arm. “Lex, what’s going on?” She tries, searching her face. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

She pushes the sudden, nauseating thought – guess – down, gripping Lexa’s hand a little tighter. _If you – if you were with someone else last night, I—_

Lexa must notice the way she pales, because she hurries to explain, finally. “Clarke, it’s nothing bad. It’s actually – good. I’ve had this idea… I’m just not sure if you’ll be open to it, and now I’m getting in my head about it.” She takes a deep breath. Her thumb shakes when she runs it across Clarke’s knuckles, but only a little. “I wanted to offer you to go somewhere with me for a weekend. Like a… a mini vacation.” Her smile turns wry. “God knows we could use one.”

Clarke thinks her ears are malfunctioning, at first. “What?”

“Yeah.” Lexa glances down at her hands. “I didn’t really go about it the right way, did I?”

“Why…” Clarke catches herself before she starts demanding answers as a wave of relief washes over her. She takes a small breath, trying to calm down before speaking again. “Why were you in your head about this? It’s – I mean, it’s a great idea. I would love to do that.”

Lexa’s face lights up with her smile, but it dims almost immediately as she chews on the inside of her cheek, clearly figuring out how to explain everything she’s thinking and feelings. “I wasn’t sure if that would be something you’d want to do,” she starts slowly, and Clarke keeps quiet, wanting her to get it all out. “What with…” she sighs, taking one of her hands out of Clarke’s hold and rubbing her face, frustration in every movement. “I’m not sure how you would react to the thought of spending several days with me,” she says lowly. “With no… Distractions. Or - support group. I mean…” she trails off, but her gaze grows hotter, most likely out of her control, as she wills Clarke to understand.

And she does.

Spending days and nights with Lexa and their shared pent-up frustration. “Oh,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think it would be a problem.” Green eyes snap up to meet hers, unreadable. For whatever reason, Lexa is tense. Tentative. And Clarke doesn’t think it’s the prospect of spending so much time alone with her that has her on edge. There’s something else underneath. Something that gnaws at her, too, like a reverse déjà vu. The realization glimmers somewhere on the brim of her mind, but she can’t quite catch it yet. “I mean, we more than proved we’re capable of controlling ourselves,” she says with a tiny, lopsided grin.

Lexa smiles, too. It’s a little muted with that _something_ Clarke’s yet to figure out, but she thinks she will soon. “Okay,” she breathes out, clearly deciding not to push the discussion further. “Okay.”

//

Lexa insists on letting Clarke choose their destination. She almost reconsiders when Clarke announces she plans on paying for half of it. It almost results in an argument before Clarke reminds her that she agreed to her terms herself, a while back in Dr. Grant’s office. “I can’t have you paying for me,” she says, practically begs while Lexa watches her with a stoic expression. “And you agreed.”

“Tentatively,” Lexa points out, but backtracks when Clarke sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Alright. Fine.”

Since she doesn’t exactly have any income aside from odd jobs she manages to pick up here and there when school allows for it, she resorts to borrowing money from her parents. They are already paying for her school and her rent, what’s another three hundred bucks?

(She certainly doesn’t feel good doing it, but she has a feeling Lexa and her need this vacation. Besides, she’ll pay them back. Someday.)

To her surprise, her parents react calmly. She’d even say _eerily_ positively. Abby promises to help find an intern to switch shifts with her so she can take Thursday off and spend three full days with Lexa, and hands over her card without a passive-aggressive remark. Jake can’t stop making jokes about grandchildren. Clarke leaves with her cheeks flaming hot and dreading the next family dinner. She doesn’t doubt for a second that her father has more jokes for poor Lexa to hear as well.

Dr. Grant encourages them, too. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she tells them with a smile that turns sly with her next words. “And if you feel ready – truly ready – then, as your therapist, I gently suggest you go for it.”

They kind of pretend they don’t understand what she’s getting at.

She spends the next day browsing through various romantic getaways on her lunch breaks before finally settling on a perfect one. A cozy cabin in the woods, and it’s only a two-hour drive. They can always come back in case of any emergency, but it’s secluded enough to create an illusion of total isolation. Just them.

Perfect. A little terrifying, but perfect. _Well,_ she thinks to herself with a dry chuckle, _this will definitely be a lesson in self-restraint. Or more of a final exam, really. That you take on a drowning ship while your desk is on fire._

This is gonna be fun.

//

Despite her worries, Lexa loves her suggestion. She loves it even more when they finally reach the cabin and climb out of the car, inhaling the crisp fresh air and looking around at the tall trees surrounding them.

“This is beautiful,” she murmurs to her as she leans into her side, placing one arm around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

Clarke grins. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You found it and organized the trip,” Lexa says, turning so she can face her. Their noses are only several millimeters apart. Clarke leans in, brushing the tip of her nose against Lexa’s.

“It was your idea, and you drove,” she points out quietly. “It was a team effort.”

“I like that,” Lexa whispers. She’s the first to press her lips to Clarke’s, gently sliding them against her mouth and swallowing her contented sigh.

 _Definitely off to a good start,_ Clarke thinks with a smile that keeps growing. She feels Lexa’s grin forming, too; soon, their smiles are too big to continue kissing, and they separate with chuckles.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she tells Lexa. Leans into her and rests her head on her shoulder, nose pressed to her neck as she breathes her in. She can never get enough of her scent. Her perfume has changed, but it’s still very her – calm and crisp and fresh, with a hint of musk. It’s pure instinct that makes Clarke nuzzle her skin, inhaling as deep as she can.

Lexa’s fingers dig into her lower back for a fraction of a second, and she thinks she can hear her breath catch in her throat – but then, she’s pressing a chaste kiss to the side of her head and steps back, smiling. “We should unpack and eat,” she says. “I’m starting to get hungry.”

Clarke doesn’t even try to scold herself when her gaze falls to Lexa’s behind as she turns and walks back to the trunk of her car. “Yeah. I’m starving.”

//

When she was booking the cabin, the one-bedroom option looked very enticing. At the same time, the two-bedroom one looked much safer, even though it was a little on the pricey side. In the end, she settled on an option with a sofa in the living room – and yes, there were cabins that didn’t offer that. Just a bed in the bedroom and two chairs in the living room-slash-kitchen.

Right now, she mentally thanks her past self for playing it safe. Staring at the double bed in a comfortably small room is suddenly intimidating as she thinks of the nights ahead.

 _It’s only two nights,_ she tells herself. _Get a fucking grip and get over yourself._

Lexa chooses this exact moment to exit from the bathroom that’s connected to the room, looking displeased as she unbuttons and takes off her oxford shirt. The small scowl on her face fades when she sees a frozen Clarke in the doorway.

_Deer, headlights. Headlights, deer._

She’d thank the Universe for Lexa’s habit of always wearing an undershirt if that undershirt wasn’t a tight tank top that clung to all the right – wrong – places, revealing Lexa’s toned arms and accentuating her sculpted stomach.

“I,” Lexa starts, bundling up her shirt in an uncharacteristic display of messiness, “the faucet refused to cooperate, and then…” she glances at the shirt in her hands, letting out a sheepish chuckle. “I got it wet.”

She swallows. _Act normal, or you’ll freak her out._ “Is it working now?” She asks, leaning against the doorpost and crossing her arms. _Nonchalant. Should work._ “I could call the front desk and ask them to check it out.”

“It’s fine,” Lexa unrolls her shirt again and hangs it on the back of a rocking chair to dry. “It just needed a minute, but it’s working now. I’d be careful with the shower, though.” She walks over to her suitcase and bends down, carefully rummaging through it. Her shoulder blades move under smooth skin as she looks for a new shirt, and Clarke finds herself transfixed for a long moment.

She blinks when Lexa straightens up and meets her eyes again.

“Okay. Good. Thanks,” she says, cringing internally. That’s definitely not nonchalant. “I’ll go start the dinner.”

Lexa gives her a strange look. “I’ll come with,” she says, unfolding the simple grey v-neck she fished out of her suitcase and quickly tugging it on. Is it normal to find such a simple, everyday thing this erotic?

“Oh, I thought you’d want to unpack first.” _Nice save._

Lexa shrugs. “We can do it later,” she says. “Come on,” her hand finds Clarke as she passes her on her way out of the bedroom, and she tugs her along. “Or I’ll have to eat you.”

 _That_ was definitely on purpose, Clarke grumbles internally as she follows her.

//

Clarke doesn’t know what it is with this place, but she can’t stop thinking about making love to Lexa. Must be something in the water. Or – something. She reasons it’s probably because it was the primary point of concern for both of them when they were discussing the whole getaway, and it just got stuck in her head.

Or it’s because she finally has Lexa all to herself without any calls, visits, and work interrupting them. Maybe. Possibly. She’s not sure. Important thing is, she can’t take her eyes off her at dinner, no matter how much she tries, and Lexa’s not exactly complaining. Quite on the contrary. She keeps meeting her eyes over the brim of her wine glass, and her lips quirk in a smirk when Clarke’s gaze inevitably falls to them after she takes a sip and licks them clean.

This is just downright cruel.

And it doesn’t look like Lexa’s going to stop any time soon. When Clarke volunteers to do the dishes – anything to escape the slowly building tension between them – she joins her at the sink, hips touching as she silently dries the plates off in-between glancing her way. Thankfully, there aren’t that many dishes.

She clears her throat as she turns the water off. “So. What do you want to do next?”

Lexa’s eyes are a brilliant green as she stares at her in the dimly lit kitchen. “I saw the pool you told me about outside,” she says, almost cautiously. “I could go for a swim. If you want.”

Clarke wants. Oh, how Clarke wants, but she’s not sure she can. Or can she? Lexa and her, wearing next to nothing while she’s seemingly having the same inner battle Clarke is?

 _We’re adults,_ Clarke reminds herself for what feels like a thousandth time this month. _We can handle it._

“Sure,” she says. “I mean, that’s why we packed the swimsuits, right?” She’s not going to say _bikini._ Even though that’s exactly what she has.

Her gaze drops to her hands as she tries not to wonder what Lexa brought with her.

“Right,” Lexa chuckles. Some of the tension fades away as she tilts her head to the right and gives her a warm smile. “Clarke,” she says softly, prompting her to look up. “Stop thinking so much. It’s just a swim. I seem to recall you saying you love swimming.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, nodding, and her shoulders relax. “Yeah, I do.”

“We’ll just take a quick dip and then dry off in front of a fireplace,” Lexa continues, smiling that easy smile. It’s such a rare thing to witness, and Clarke feels the last of her tension evaporate at the sight. “And I’ll tell you a couple of scary stories to ensure you cuddle me the whole night.” She chuckles when Clarke makes a displeased noise, but still leans in.

“Classic Slytherin,” she states before leaving a chaste kiss on her lips. “But thank you.”

“Thought I was a Hufflepuff,” Lexa smirks.

“You’re amazing,” Clarke murmurs to her, entwining their fingers. “That’s what you are.”

“So are you. Now go change,” she urges Clarke. “I’ll finish up here and then join you at the pool.”

“Okay.” Another short, sweet kiss, and she walks away, feeling a lot lighter than before.

//

In hindsight, walking out in a robe was probably not a smart decision. Or, rather, it has its pros and cons. Pro: she didn’t walk out in what essentially is her underwear. Con? She’ll have to strip in front of Lexa, who’s already in the pool.

She clearly did not think this through.

Her fingers feel a little numb as they find the knot and slowly begin to untie the generic white robe she found in the bathroom. Green eyes watch her. Flick down to her hands and up to her face again, unreadable. Clarke swallows.

Then, Lexa gives her a small, soft smile before turning around, submerging underwater and leisurely swimming away.

Clarke doesn’t dwell on her relieved sigh and a feeling of gratitude spreading through her chest. She quickly tugs her robe off and walks up to the edge of the pool while Lexa’s not looking at her. She still hasn’t come up for air. Impressive. Gives Clarke plenty of time to dive in, and so she does. The water is cold at first. Almost freezing, but seconds later, it becomes pleasantly cool as she gets used to it.

She emerges at the other side of the pool, and Lexa’s there as well, studying her. “Wow.” She smiles. “You’re really good.”

“Told you I loved swimming,” she replies, a little out of breath. It’s been a while since she had any good practice. An occasional cigarette she used to enjoy back in a day certainly left its mark, too. She deeply inhales and exhales, grasping the edge of the pool and letting herself float.

Lexa’s still smiling. “You could love something and absolutely suck at it. Or just be average,” she says. “I’m awful at video games, but to this day, I enjoy getting cyber-beat up by Lincoln.”

Clarke can’t stop her own grin from spreading as she imagines the two of them, all dressed up in their sharp suits and tailored shirts, fumble with controllers and yell at the screen. “I guess the reverse is true, too,” she muses. “You can be great at something and hate it.”

Lexa’s smile becomes tinged with something grey. “I could think of an example,” she says quietly. “Did someone teach you to swim, or are you self-taught?”

The abrupt change of subject is too obvious to comment on. “I took classes back in high school. It was…” she thinks back to her teenage self and chuckles. “It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I almost drowned when I was a kid,” she explains to Lexa, whose eyes widen in alarm. “That’s actually the reason I decided to take classes in the first place. I got tired of being scared, and left behind whenever my friends would go to the beach. And, you know,” she smirks, “it’s a skill that can save your life someday. You never know.”

Lexa nods. “How old were you?” She asks. “When you almost -- God, I can’t even say it,” she chuckles, a little sheepish. Clarke can relate. She can’t think of Lexa in life-threatening situations without her stomach coiling with dread.

“It was a long time ago,” she says in a soothing voice. “I was nine. We had a big family vacation at the lake, with almost all of my aunts and uncles. My cousin kept teasing me because I couldn’t swim, and, naturally, I had to prove him wrong. Needless to say, it did not work out as well as I’d hoped.”

Lexa’s shaking her head, but there’s a smile on her lips she’s failing to suppress. “You were a reckless nine-year-old,” she remarks.

“Who wasn’t?” Clarke asks. At Lexa’s pointed look, she laughs. “Well, not all of us were groomed to rule a corporate empire.” She shields her face with her hands when Lexa splashes water at her, laughing harder. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Lexa shoots her a mock glare before smiling again. “And what happened next?”

She smiles, too, as she remembers that day. It was humid and hot, even in the evening, and the water was warm and calming. Deceptively calming. “My dad saved me,” she says, quietly. “I was lucky to have been noticed before I lost consciousness. You know, when people drown, it’s not like in the movies, where they wave their arms around and yell for help. At most, you’ll see their head bopping up and down. That’s exactly what happened. Dad saw me and, knowing I couldn’t swim, ran to get me.”

“Jesus,” Lexa breathes out. She’s wearing a light, concerned frown. Clarke slowly threads closer to her, and her hand finds hers underwater.

“I was mostly okay. Terrified and scarred for most of my adolescent life, but okay. Like I said, I was lucky.”

Lexa’s gaze is pensive as she watches her. “I don’t know if I would be able to overcome a fear like that,” she muses. “What you did is admirable.”

Clarke feels herself start to blush. “I just learned how to swim.”

“After being traumatized as a child,” Lexa adds. “It’s brave. Very brave.”

She doesn’t expect to experience such a wide array of emotions at having Lexa compliment her – and so every time she’s caught completely off-guard. And at a loss for words. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she finally says, eager to defuse the tension coiled in her body. Tension that’s not entirely unpleasant.

“Truth is not flattery,” Lexa states, before graciously letting Clarke have it her way: “but good to know.” Her smirk is goofy; the flirty tone exaggerated to the point of being silly, and Clarke laughs as she flicks water at her.

Soon, the water is no longer cool, but cold again, and they climb out. And Lexa forgot to bring a towel for herself. Lexa. Forgot. Clarke finds it extremely hard to believe, and she’s not sure whether or not she should complain while she watches Lexa slowly emerge from the pool, water sliding down her skin. Lexa makes no move to shield herself – because, well, why would she – while she stands there, one hand rubbing the back of her neck as she smiles an embarrassed smile. “Um,” she says, looking at Clarke who’s bundled up in her towel and frozen on the spot. “I’ll be right back.”

Clarke just stays there, unable to stop herself from gawking at her as she walks away – all lean muscle and straight posture in a simple black swimsuit. Unlike Clarke, who’s got a classic blue bikini on, she’s wearing a sports bra and boxer briefs. It makes her look all the more enticing.

 _Less_ is _more,_ Clarke thinks, a little dazed. _Or more is less, really, given the situation. Or -- whatever._

She probably should’ve offered Lexa her towel. Although she might’ve found it gross. Using someone else’s damp towel doesn’t exactly sound fun. But she could’ve given her the robe she walked out in.

While Clarke silently berates herself for not being more thoughtful, Lexa comes back, a lot more dry and a lot more covered, with a towel around her shoulders. She’s also carrying a small brown paper bag and two cans of beer, one of which she offers to Clarke. She accepts with a grateful smile.

“Let’s start that fire,” Lexa says, seemingly not noticing her inner struggle. “Oh, and I have a small surprise for you,” she smirks at Clarke.

Clarke swallows. “You won’t tell me if I ask, will you,” she states.

Lexa’s smirk only grows.

//

“Beer and marshmallows,” Clarke laughs as she rotates her stick over the fire. “Exquisite.”

“Isn’t it?” Lexa joins in, before reaching somewhere behind her. “That’s not all, though.”

Clarke’s eyes widen when she catches sight of a plastic bag full of crackers. “No,” she breathes out. “No way.”

“Fine,” Lexa shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She places the bag next to herself and reaches inside, fishing out two crackers. Out of the brown paper bag, she takes a chocolate bar and unwraps it.

Clarke rolls her eyes and scoots closer to her, grabbing the plastic bag. “You know that’s not what I meant,” she says as she sets out to make the treat. “I just didn’t expect you, of all people, to start making s’mores.”

“I’m not that much of a sugar prude,” Lexa grins.

“That’s not even a thing,” she replies with more laughter. “But if it were, you’d be it.”

“For that alone, I should eat all of this and make you watch.”

Clarke’s not surprised in the slightest when Lexa fails to suppress a grimace after a second bite and gives her an innocent look as she offers the half-eaten s’more to her. She might be a lot of things, but a sugar lover she’s definitely not. That’s what made her surprise all the more unexpected. And sweet. In more senses than one.

She happily munches on her own treat while they stare at the slowly dying fire. “This is nice,” she breathes out, glancing at Lexa who appears to be deep in thought. “Thank you.”

“For tons of processed sugar?” Lexa chuckles. “You’re welcome. It is starting to get a little chilly, isn’t it?”

Clarke nods. They are close to the mountains, after all. It’s a welcome escape from the heat of the city, but not when there’s an uncomfortably damp towel around your barely-clothed body. The fire can only do so much. “I guess we should’ve changed before doing this,” she grins at Lexa.

“Yeah, probably,” Lexa smiles back. “We could go do that now, but I’d like to take a shower after being in the pool, and I don’t think I’d have much energy left after that.”

“We could head inside,” Clarke offers. She’s also feeling a little tired from the journey. Lexa is probably exhausted from the drive. She doesn’t look fatigued, but there is a certain relaxed air around her that is quick to fade into drowsiness.

“Are you sure?”

She nods and stands up. “Positive. Plus, I can already feel the sugar crash coming.” Her smirk lets Lexa know she’s kidding. Mostly.

Putting out the fire is quick since the majority of it is just embers. Lexa carefully poured water over them until it stopped hissing, and they went inside for a quick – separate – shower. Thankfully, Lexa doesn’t comment when Clarke takes her change of clothes into the bathroom with her.

//

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing she says when Lexa comes out of the bathroom freshly showered and wearing a robe. “I’m making this whole thing weird.” She’s had some time to finally breathe and think while Lexa was taking a shower.

Lexa sighs as she gingerly sits next to her. “You don’t need to apologize,” she tells her. “And I wouldn’t call it weird. But I did want to talk about it. It seems like…” she trails off, swallowing as she looks away. “It’s as if you’re scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.” Lexa gives her a dubious look. “I am scared a little,” she admits. “But it’s not of _you._ ”

“Then what?” Lexa asks softly.

“I… this is hard to explain,” she breathes out. “It’s so many things. I want you a lot,” she says sincerely, and that earns her a small smile. “But I’m afraid of making you uncomfortable, and so I avoid certain… particularly sexual situations. Like changing in front of each other.”

Lexa’s face is crossed with realization. “Oh God. I thought _you_ were uncomfortable with it.”

“I’m not. Well,” Clarke hesitates, and Lexa shoots her a concerned look. “I’m just… I’m a little confused,” she confesses. “By -- by you. Because at times it feels like you do want us in those sexual situations.”

Lexa’s smile is both confused and amused. “I feel like you’re forgetting I want you too, Clarke,” she points out. “And I feel like you have no idea how badly I do.”

It’s really hard not to become frustrated. “I know that,” she says. “But – please don’t get me wrong, bur we also – we’re not there yet and I don’t want you to feel pressured, but at the same time it’s difficult for me to constantly keep in check.” That doesn’t come out right, she knows that.

But Lexa only stares at her. “The last few times you were the one to put a stop to things,” she says quietly.

“Because I felt you weren’t ready,” she tries not to sound defensive, but she thinks she fails. All of this is starting to feel like a fight. If they can’t spend a day together without fighting, what does it say about their relationship?

Her eyes are prickling, but she locks her jaw and looks on the floor, not willing to let the tears fall. She feels Lexa stand up. This is where she quietly walks out, isn’t it? Tomorrow morning, they’ll eat in silence and pack up without looking at each other and leave without getting the money back for the time they didn’t spend here.

She has to bite her lower lip to stop a sob. It dies down on its own, however, when Lexa comes into her view as she kneels in front of her. Her palm is warm on her cheek.

“You’re right,” Lexa says quietly, urging her to look her in the eye. “I wasn’t. I’m not. I don’t know when I will be, but – I know that when you’re holding me…” her other hand finds Clarke’s, squeezing. “When you’re kissing me,” her thumb runs across Clarke’s lips, and she smiles. “I don’t want you to stop. Not anymore. And I know that even if we might just be caught up in the moment – I know I won’t regret you.” Her voice drops to a whisper as she cups Clarke’s face with both hands. “Not anymore.”

“I,” Clarke has to stop and sniffle back her tears. “You’re not just… saying this because of my meltdown?” She has to check, no matter how dumb she sounds.

And Lexa understands. “No,” she smiles. “And I wouldn’t call this a meltdown.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke murmurs as Lexa rises and sits next to her again, gathering her in her arms. “This was dumb. I’ll wait for as long as you need me to, Lexa. I was just… a little overwhelmed, but it won’t happen again.”

“I get it,” Lexa tells her. “I’m the one who has… issues with intimacy, but then I go and make it sexual. Your confusion is understandable. But what I’m saying is… perhaps, you don’t need to wait.” She meets Clarke’s gaze with her own calm one. “Perhaps, I don’t need you to wait.”

Clarke’s heart threatens to leap out of her chest with how fast it’s suddenly beating. “Do you want to – I, now?” She stutters, immediately berating herself.

Lexa smirks. Then, chuckles. Soon, she’s laughing, and Clarke joins in, loudly and freely. They slowly calm down, lying down and facing each other with grins.

“I think we should just… go with the flow,” Lexa says. “And I know it’s hard, but really, Clarke, stop thinking so much.” Her smile grows soft. “It’s just me.”

Oh, yeah, only the love of her life. That makes it easy. Clarke exhales, trying to ground herself. She knows what Lexa’s telling her. _It’s just me, and no one else, and I’ll always get you. Trust me._

“Okay,” she breathes out. “Go with the flow. I can do that.” She smiles when Lexa tries to stifle a yawn. “Right now the flow is telling us to go to bed.”

“I agree.” Lexa nods, a little embarrassed. “I’m kind of exhausted.”

“Yeah. Thank God we talked about this and we don’t have to discuss sleeping arrangements. That would have been so awkward.”

“Oh, God,” Lexa laughs, in that mesmerizing way of hers, closing her eyes as she lets laughter tumble down from her lips. “I was rehearsing that conversation in the shower. I had a list of arguments prepared, and I’m especially proud of one of them.”

Clarke props her head up on her hand, curious. “Oh? Let me hear it.”

“The quality of my sleep would suffer _drastically_ if I had to spend the night alone in this bed, knowing you’re so close, yet so far away,” Lexa proclaimed with a sly smile.

Clarke really tries, but she can’t hold her laughter in, and Lexa’s smile widens as she watches her. “You like that? Took me several minutes to get the wording right.”

“You killed it,” Clarke says through her chuckles. “Good job. I’m proud of it.”

“That’s all that matters. Now,” Lexa’s smile becomes a smirk. “I haven’t had the chance to demonstrate my vast knowledge of scary campfire stories earlier…”

“Don’t you dare,” Clarke interrupts sternly. “I’ll cuddle you without them.”


	26. part iii chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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She hopes she never gets used to waking up next to Lexa, and she means it in the best possible way. She wants to always feel that warmth when she awakes; wants her lips to curl in a smile at the realization of having Lexa’s arms around her.

  
She’s careful not to jostle her when she turns around. Her smile grows at the sight. Chestnut hair scattered all over the pillow as Lexa lies on her side, breathing even and deep in her slumber. Not for the first time Clarke is struck by how young she looks when she sleeps. It’s easy to forget sometimes that she’s only a couple of years older than her, with the burden she carries on her shoulders every day. The young woman before her is responsible for things she can’t even imagine. People and their families depend on decisions she makes, every day, hour, minute.

  
Clarke’s hand slowly cups her cheek, running her thumb across the bone, feather-like.

  
Long, dark lashes flutter at the touch. She suppresses the urge to chuckle when Lexa mumbles something incoherent that vaguely sounds questioning. She’s never been a morning person. Clarke still finds it baffling.

  
“Morning,” she whispers, scooting closer to her and pressing her lips to the soft skin of her neck. Higher, to her jaw, keeping it light and chaste as her hand continues to stroke her cheek.

  
Lexa lets out a quiet groan, and Clarke leans back just in time to see her eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep. “…Hi,” she rasps after blinking several times and finally managing to focus on Clarke’s face.

  
She bites her lower lip to stop a giant grin from breaking out. “Hi,” she murmurs back. Lexa leans into her hand, seemingly subconsciously, as her hand travels up and down her side.

  
“Did you sleep well?” Lexa still sounds drowsy, but she’s looking more and more awake as her gaze lazily trails Clarke’s face and form.

  
“Yeah. You?”

  
Lexa nods. “I wouldn’t say no to more,” she quips, allowing a smile to escape, and Clarke smiles back.  
“Go back to sleep, then,” she says quietly. “I’ll make us breakfast and wake you up.” She tries to roll onto her other side so she can rise to her feet, but that proves difficult with Lexa’s hold on her tightening.

  
“You are kind of the essential part of this,” she tells her, grinning with self-satisfaction when Clarke laughs.

  
“Fine,” she says, settling back into Lexa’s welcoming arms. “Only because you can’t sleep without me.”  
Lexa smirks. “I didn’t say that.”

  
“Oh?” Clarke raises her eyebrows and tries to get out of her hold, but her – largely insincere – attempt is futile. Lexa grabs her waist and tugs her back, and they fall back down onto the bed, laughing, with Clarke trapped under Lexa.

  
Green eyes sparkle as they stare down at her. “Where do you think you’re going?” Lexa demands, with a small grin.

  
“Nowhere,” Clarke laughs. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her eyes widen and her laughter dies, abruptly, when Lexa’s deft fingers inch closer to her sides, wiggling.

“No. Lexa. Don’t you dare.” Fingertips stroke her skin, and she squirms, gasping. “I’ll kick you,” she warns, only half-jokingly.

  
She hates tickling. Once, she almost broke Raven’s nose with how hard she was flailing under her attack. She’s not sure she would’ve felt too guilty about it, either – she did warn her. And she told Lexa about that.

  
But Lexa smirks, with a certain air of slight arrogance she hasn’t seen in so long, and plops down next to her. “As long as you’ve learned your lesson,” she murmurs in a husky voice, swinging an arm and a leg over her as she lays her head on her shoulder. It’s a very bold move for Lexa, and a particularly… uncharacteristic position. In a way, it’s a rather vulnerable one. A position that demands caring and protection, and usually, Lexa’s the one who’s got her arms around Clarke, not the other way around. But Clarke is not about to question a good thing.

  
She smiles into dark hair before pressing a kiss to it.

“Should we set the alarm?” She asks, enjoying the way her fingers slide up and down Lexa’s back.

  
“We’re on vacation,” comes a murmur. Clarke’s only half-surprised at Lexa’s voice becoming drowsy again. “No alarms.”

  
“Alright,” she chuckles. “No alarms.”

  
It doesn’t take long for Lexa to drift off. Clarke expects to stay awake, guarding her sleep, but Lexa’s calm breathing and warm weight on her are too enticing, and she doesn’t fight it when she starts nodding off, too.

  
//

  
She wakes up to the empty bed and the sun high in the sky. It’s a little disorienting, with Lexa nowhere to be found. The familiar feeling of resignation sets in, but she blinks and sits up, willing it away. She wouldn’t leave her. They are past that. Besides, her suitcase is still there. She sighs, because it’s a little troubling that that is what grounds her. But abandonment issues don’t exactly go away overnight, and she lets out a slow breath, steadying herself.

  
She wouldn’t leave. There’s no logical reason for her to do so. They are past that.

  
Just as Clarke’s thoughts are about to venture into a dangerous territory of pointing out that there wasn’t any logical reason for Lexa to keep coming back in the first place, Lexa herself walks into the room, still in her sleeping attire and with hair mildly disheveled. Her smile fades into a small frown when she sees Clarke, and she’s quick to get back in bed.

  
“Hey, what’s… are you okay?”

  
Clarke clears her throat and shakes her head. “I – yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  
“You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lexa’s voice is careful as she studies her. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  
“No, I…” she glances down at her lap before lifting her eyes to meet Lexa’s worried ones again. “Where did you go?”

  
She hates this. She needs to learn to manage this – this constant fear she has, lurking at the edges of her mind. That one day, Lexa will leave. Some days, it’s better. Some days, like today, it’s… not.

  
“Anya called,” Lexa replies. She’s still staring at her, and Clarke can’t help the irritation prickling at her skin. It’s not directed at Lexa, and she knows that – it’s just a defensive reaction at having someone look at her like she’s about to break when she’s – probably – not. But that doesn’t make it pleasant. “She asked Raven out. You might be getting a call, too,” Lexa smirks. “Not from Anya, obviously.”

  
“Obviously,” Clarke laughs at that, and even though it’s a little hollow, it’s still warming, and she slowly relaxes into it. Into Lexa’s hands idly rubbing her knees as she sits next to her and gives her an encouraging smile. The overwhelming sense of helplessness from earlier ebbs away, and she breathes in and out, feeling her smile become more genuine.

  
But Lexa’s fades, again. “I’m sorry I scared you,” she says, quietly.

  
Clarke shakes her head. “This one is on me,” she quips, still smiling. Yes, it was a little terrifying to wake up to such a wide array of emotions – powerful, negative emotions – but now, she mostly feels silly. And relieved. Lexa’s here. She was right. And she’ll remind herself of today whenever she feels like that again. She was right, and Lexa came back. “I can’t expect you to stay glued to my side every morning.”

  
“Would be nice, though,” Lexa smiles. And she’s never been more grateful for Lexa’s ability to read her so easily. She must sense she doesn’t want this to turn into a long discussion. She just wants to let this go, at least for now. It’s not really sweeping this under the rag if she’ll talk about it with Dr. Grant when they return, right?

  
Her hands find the back of Lexa’s neck, and she smiles when Lexa readily leans in and leaves a small kiss on her lips. “Anya and Raven,” she murmurs when they part. “Can’t say I saw that coming. Like, ever.”

  
Lexa shrugs. “I knew Anya would like her when I first met her. Well,” she chuckles. “Not when I first met her. Although I have to admit, Anya does appreciate a great pair of legs…”

  
Clarke pushes at her shoulder with a faux shocked expression on her face. “Are you saying you looked?”

  
“I didn’t exactly have a choice!” Lexa laughingly defends herself, gathering a pouting Clarke in her arms. “She walked into my line of sight. Pantless. It was a natural response.”

  
“Uh-huh,” Clarke grumbles into her shoulder, but doesn’t push her away. Nor does she fight a small smile.

  
Lexa coos, pressing a kiss to her head. “Raven’s great, but not for me,” she chuckles. “Now, Anya, on the other hand, is quite smitten. Enough to call me and ask for advice.”

  
Clarke perks up, curiously. “Oh? What kind of advice?” She grins. “Please tell me she asked you what she should wear.”

  
Lexa gives her a pointed look. “Have you met Anya?” She asks, rhetorically. “Clothes are definitely not the issue. No, she asked me where she should take her.”

  
“Where is she taking her?” Now that she’s past her small freak out, the excitement is bubbling up inside her. She’s so going to call Raven later for details. Anya being so besotted with her friend has got to be one of the most surreal things she’s ever experienced.

  
Lexa smirks. “That’s classified,” she announces smugly. “Conflict of interest. You understand.”

  
Sadly – but predictably – Lexa’s loyalty to her friend wins over the power of Clarke’s pout. “Come on,” she says, standing up and tugging Clarke with her. “I believe you mentioned something about breakfast.”

  
//

  
She checks her phone while she waits for Lexa to finish her shower after her so they can make breakfast together. Sure enough, there are several excited texts from Raven, each more enthusiastic than the last. She chuckles as she quickly dials her friend and holds her phone slightly away from her ear in advance, prepared for a loud greeting.

  
As always, Raven doesn’t disappoint. “Clarke!” she yells as soon as she picks up. “What the hell are you doing?”

  
“Uh,” that’s not exactly something she’s expected. Probably should have, though. “Calling you?”

  
“Yeah, why?” Her friend answers, impatiently. There are noises of loud music and then something crashing, mixed with Raven swearing under her breath before the thumping beats are cut off. She doesn’t let Clarke voice an incredulous response to her question, speaking again. “You’re supposed to be boning Lexa right about now.”

  
Clarke feels her cheeks heat up. “We’re – she’s in the shower,” she says lamely.

  
“Ooh, girl,” Raven lets out an approving drawl.

  
“No, it’s not like that,” she hurries to explain. “We haven’t… done anything yet.”

  
“Yet?”

  
“Look, that’s not why I’m calling. My celibacy is nothing new. Anya taking you out, on the other hand…”

  
“Oh, man,” Raven sounds mildly apologetic, and Clarke blinks, confused. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to distract you from your romantic adventure. But I couldn’t not tell you. I did tell you not to text me back until you return, though! I didn’t expect you to call. I’m sorry.”

  
“What?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh. Does her relationship with Lexa seem this precarious to everyone? Although, on the other hand, Anya called Lexa first. Way earlier than Raven sent her texts. Perhaps, her friends are simply more considerate.

  
Okay, so maybe she’s a little bit petty. It’s confusing, so she doesn’t dwell on it. Besides, it’s mostly coming from a place of humor, not resentment. “Rae, come on. That’s dumb. Especially for you. Now dish,” she crosses her legs as she settles further into the couch. “I need details. How the hell did that happen?”

  
“Okay,” Raven releases a deep breath. “If you’re sure,” she hears her grin. It’s clear that she can’t hide or contain her excitement any longer. If she were the type to squeal, Clarke would definitely be treated to that already. Actually, she still might be, considering how giddy Raven sounds. “So I’m usually the last one to go because there’s a lot of things I need to learn, right?” She doesn’t wait for a confirmation from Clarke, just keeps going. “And Anya stays pretty late, too, on the days she’s here and not at some other office dealing with other businesses. By the way, your girlfriend has a lot of those. Marry her and you’re set for life. Shit. Sorry, I’m sorry, my brain is kind of all over the place right now.”

  
Clarke rolls her eyes, fondly, deciding to let the accidental jab go. “You’re fine,” she says. “But you gotta chill a little.”

  
“I can’t!” Raven exclaims. She hears some shuffling and more things crashing before more swearing. “Sorry. Anyway. So she stays late, too, and she’s approached me a couple of times about it. You know, the usual why are you still here, do you need help – I told you about it.”

  
She nods. “Yeah.”

  
“So yesterday, I went to the office because I needed to work on some documents that I can’t take home cause, you know, classified. And she was there, too, but I didn’t know that, because I can’t see her office from my desk. So get this – I make myself some coffee – they got top-notch shit for us. I love my job. Anyway – I get my coffee, sit at my desk, crank up some music, Iron Man style, and just as I’m about to get to the good stuff, she creeps up and scares the shit out of me. I almost fell out of my chair.”

  
Clarke can’t help but laugh as she imagines the way it went down.

  
“If you think that’s funny, you should’ve seen her face,” Raven continues, smirking. “She looked mortified. Which, not gonna lie, looked cute. She couldn’t stop apologizing, and I kind of had it – you know how I get after coffee. Plus, she’s hot and all, but she was interrupting my flow. So I just went: what will it take to get you to shut up already?”

  
“No,” Clarke drawls, eyes wide. “Raven. Jesus Christ.”

  
“Just Raven is fine,” her friend quips, clearly pleased with the reaction. “She went really quiet, and, when my brain caught up with my mouth, I basically froze, cause I was like: I’m so fucking fired. Seriously, I wanted to run when she started to speak. Good thing I didn’t, though.”

  
“Well? What did she say?” Clarke practically demands when Raven pauses. So she’s impatient. Sue her.

  
Raven barks out a short laugh. “You sure are wound tight, I wonder why.”

  
“Raven,” Clarke says through clenched teeth.

  
“Geez, Griffin. She said have dinner with me. I was like what? She just smirked and said that she’ll shut up if I have dinner with her.”

  
Clarke grins in spite of herself. “Damn,” she says. “She’s smooth.”

  
“I hope you’re talking about me.” She lifts her eyes, and Lexa’s smirking at her from the bedroom doorway, dressed in fresh clothes. She shakes her head with her own smirk, before mouthing Raven to her, and she nods with realization before walking over to join her on the couch. Clarke smiles as she leans into her, her back to her front, smelling crisp mint and a hint of lemongrass. She must’ve used Clarke’s shower gel. The thought feels her with giddiness she can’t quite explain.

  
“Right?” Raven says, oblivious to Lexa’s presence. “Totally caught me off guard. I just stood there like an idiot. Barely managed to mumble a yes, and she smirked that damn smirk again and left.” She sighs. “And the way she walked away… That ass is still haunting me.”

  
“I was under the impression that haunting wasn’t a good thing,” Clarke says.

  
“You know what I mean.”

  
Lexa’s arms flex around her waist as she leans in to her other ear. “Haunting?” she whispers, amused. Her breath tickles, but Clarke doesn’t hate it. She, in fact, welcomes it very, very much.

  
Her back arches of its own accord when Lexa starts to softly nuzzle her ear. “I, uh. This is – epic. Definitely something to, um, to tell your grandkids about.”

  
Raven’s silent for a short moment. “Lexa’s out of the shower, isn’t she.”

  
Full lips pepper small, sweet kisses down her neck to her shoulder. “A little bit.”

  
“That doesn’t make any sense, and, understandably, so are you,” Raven snorts. “Alright, I’m out. Go bang your girl.”

  
“No, Rae,” Clarke tries, and Lexa stills, simply pressing her nose to the side of her head and evenly breathing in and out.

  
“I’ll text you about the date later, don’t worry,” Raven reassures her. “Seriously, Clarke. It’s fine. Just buy me a drink when you come back. I’m easy like that.”  
“Anya would be thrilled to hear that,” Clarke chuckles.

  
“You know I’m not going home alone tonight, baby,” Raven purrs into the phone. “Alright, gotta go.” With that, she quickly disconnects the call before Clarke has a chance to protest.

  
She sighs. Lexa shifts behind her, and her fingers start to drawl circles on her stomach, lazily. “Did I screw it up?”

  
“No,” she’s quick to reassure her, sitting up and turning to face her. Lexa looks unsure, still, and she rubs her thigh, gently. “Raven’s just really invested in our relationship. Especially the, um, intimate aspect of it.” She rolls her eyes, mostly to hide the sudden shyness rushing through her. “She’d probably punch my boob if I called her back.”

  
Green eyes flick down to her chest. It takes Lexa a second to lift them again as she clears her throat. “We don’t want that.”

  
“No, we do not,” Clarke grins. “Food?” She asks, leaning in for a quick peck and feeling plump lips curl against hers.

  
“Yes, please.”


	27. part iii chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [twitter](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9C>%20my%20tumblr</a>%20for%20a%20link%20to%20my%20other%20works!%0A%0Aand%20follow%20me%20on:%20%0A<a%20href=)  
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> 
> enjoy your read!

Out of all the activities they could be busying themselves with – and yes, sex totally counts as one. Or several, really – Lexa had to choose hiking. Of course, Clarke was given a choice, but what was she supposed to say when green eyes shone that brightly when she described everything they’d get to see while out on a trail?

“I haven’t gone hiking in forever,” Lexa told her with excitement. “Last time was… God, five years ago. Five years,” she repeated, as if unable to believe it herself.

So, naturally, she said yes. And – she’s not saying she’s regretting her decision, but she’s getting close to that. Dangerously close. They haven’t walked a mile, it seems, and she’s already tired. In her defense, she’s not used to walking uphill. Or walking in general. Why would she walk when she can take the subway anywhere she needs to be?

There should be an uber for hiking. Perhaps she’ll start her own business. Make millions. Will be able to take Lexa on vacations somewhere with no mountains so she wouldn’t be tempted to hike.

Lexa stops the second Clarke starts having difficulty breathing. “We can rest for a bit,” she says, but Clarke shakes her head.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she takes a second to get her breathing under control, which takes longer than she’s expected. Lexa watches her with careful eyes.

“I don’t mind stopping if you don’t,” she says. “I could go for a snack.”

Mentioning food is a low blow, but an effective one. Clarke sighs and nods, and Lexa chuckles as she takes her hand and leads her off the trail, to the grass-covered flatter area between the trees. It really is beautiful, Clarke notes with another small sigh as she sits down. All the trees, with leaves that are starting to turn different colors, not there yet, but on their way to it. The sound of a small river running nearby and the feeling of fresh grass under her hands.

She can only imagine what the view is like up there, on the snowy peaks. They are definitely not going to climb that high. Still, she wonders.

She smiles gratefully as she accepts an apple Lexa gives her and bites into it with a crunch. Lexa plops down next to her and does the same, although with less gusto. More daintily.

“How far up do you want to go?” She asks her while they stare down at their house. It’s not too far away, but far enough to make Clarke question her previous estimates of their mileage.

Lexa shrugs. “I haven’t really set a goal,” she says, before taking another bite and slowly chewing. She fishes a bottle of water out of her backpack next, offering it to Clarke first and then drinking herself. “A couple of miles, maybe. Not too high up, I think. It becomes steeper the higher we go.”

Clarke nods, and looks at her feet. Of course Lexa packed her trekking shoes and she didn’t.

In her defense, she doesn’t _own_ any.

“Okay.” A couple of miles sounds reasonable. She can do it. She thinks.

“We can go back if you want,” Lexa touches her arm, tentatively. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“What? No,” Clarke shakes her head. “I’m okay. If we just… took it slow?”

Lexa grins. “That, we can do.” Then, she winks. The sight is so ridiculous and knowingly exaggerated that she laughs.

“Don’t I know it.” She glances down at their house again, before rising to her feet. “Okay, I think I’m good to go.”

The crunch of fallen leaves under their shoes is grounding, Clarke finds. Calming, just like the scenery around them. They venture closer to the small mountain river and discover that it was, indeed, almost freezing cold – Clarke’s fingers begin to hurt after only several seconds of being dipped into the water. A quick splash on their heated faces is energizing, though. Even if she probably wouldn’t do it again.

The day is so bright and unhurried Lexa’s next phrase doesn’t register in her brain. Or, rather, she doesn’t interpret it the right way at first.

“Her name was Costia.”

She blinks, curiously, and tears her gaze away from the river to focus on Lexa’s pensive expression. “Whose name?” she asks, confused, and Lexa shakes her head with a small, distracted smile.

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to bring it up for weeks,” she says quietly, leaning back and stretching her legs out, her weight resting on her hands. “I don’t know how I concluded that just blurting it out was the way to go, but… Sometimes, that’s the easiest way.” She chuckles, but she still seems far away, in her own thoughts. “Costia was the first girl I fell in love with. She was --” Lexa cuts herself off, abruptly, and sits up straighter, resting her elbows on her bent knees. There’s a coiling in her body that’s easy to sense. She doesn’t look at Clarke as she lets out a breath.

“Hey,” Clarke whispers, sitting closer to her. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says, still not looking at her. Her sudden smirk is colorless on her face. It fades when green eyes finally meet hers, and Clarke almost recoils at the anguish she finds there. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, I think,” she says, with palpable regret. “This is _our_ time, and…”

“Lexa,” Clarke starts gently when it becomes clear she won’t continue. “If you think I’ll be upset about you loving someone else a long time ago--”

But Lexa’s already shaking her head. “No,” she says. “That’s not it, but now’s still not the time to talk about her. It was a rash decision on my part.” Her gaze grows pensive again as she looks around, taking everything in. “She loved hiking. I guess I let my emotions get the best of me.”

Clarke barely has time to frown in confusion before Lexa springs to her feet and offers her a hand. “Come on,” she says, seemingly back to her usual self. “I’ll make us grilled cheese.”

For now, Clarke decides to go with the flow and not address the abrupt back-and-forth swinging. “I thought they were _bad for you,_ ” she smirks as she lets Lexa tug her up and keeps her hand in hers.

Lexa shrugs. “Life’s too short to say no to an occasional fried, buttery, cheesy goodness.”

They chat about small things. Lexa’s hand is confident and steady wrapped around hers, but Clarke still finds herself going over their earlier strange conversation in her head, and the more she does, the more rattled she feels, and she doesn’t quite know why.

//

At first, she thinks it’s the jealousy. Yes, it’s childish and more than a little insecure on her part, but it makes sense – being jealous of someone Lexa speaks about with such care. Guarding memories and thoughts of her with near-reverence.

But there’s something else underneath. Something uneasy, restless gnawing at the back of her mind, making her think about Lexa’s words again and again, looking for something she’s not even aware of.

The realization comes suddenly and violently; ripping through her, grasping at her neck with icy fingers before trailing them down her spine. She stares at her reflection in the bathroom, and her features twist in sorrow. It’s an educated guess, for now, but it clicks, and she lets out a long, shuddering breath as she lets go of the counter and wraps her arms around her midsection, trying to ground herself.

Costia passed away, she thinks. And that’s why Lexa’s so hesitant to bring it up; that’s why it’s so difficult for her to talk about it; that’s why she was overcome with emotions today, while they were doing something Costia loved. _Loved._

 _Her name_ was _Costia._ It’s a beautiful name, Clarke thinks absentmindedly. She must have been beautiful, too, for Lexa to fall in love with her. Not her face or her body, no; on the inside. She wonders how much of Costia Lexa carries with her now. How much of their love has shaped her, if any? What has she discovered about herself while being with her?

How hard did she take it?

Clarke thinks of Lexa she’s seen in the hospital. Somber, and collected, and at the same time, uneasy. She remembers sensing her slight discomfort when they were waiting for her father to get better – seems like forever and a half ago. Did Costia die in there? On the way there? Did Lexa sit outside of her room, did she pace the floor, did she stand with fists curled, hating the feeling of absolute helplessness spreading through her chest as the woman she loved withered away?

Clarke closes her eyes, but all she can see is white, sterile hallways full of busy doctors, and countless doors to countless room, and _Lexa._ Alone, motionless on a chair, her suit immaculate, her tie unloosened, and green eyes empty and dull.

What if she saw her die?

Clarke only realizes she’s crying when she chokes on a sob. Her hand flies up to her face, feeling wetness under fingertips, and she shakes her head, firmly telling herself to get it together. It’s a guess. Just a guess. She could be wrong. She _wants_ to be wrong. Maybe it was a rough break-up for Lexa, and that’s why she’s so careful about her memory of her. Maybe, she still has feelings for her – they say you never forget your first love, after all. Clarke still cares about Finn as a person, and doesn’t have any ill wishes towards him.

_But she doesn’t speak about her like I would about Finn._

She turns on the tap, splashing water on her cheeks and wiping her reddened, moist eyes. She needs to get herself under control.

And she needs to stop thinking about her storming into Lexa’s life after such a tragic loss and taking advantage of her vulnerability and -- she can’t go there right now. She can’t. She needs Dr. Grant for that.

(That would further explain Lexa’s hesitancy to tell her about Costia. She’s worried about Clarke’s stability; finding out about something like that would definitely screw with her head. It already does.)

Okay. She needs to calm down, because her speculations might turn out to be false. And she doesn’t know if she should talk to Lexa about her suspicions. And should she do it now, or after they got back?

Clarke sighs and turns the tap off, patting her face and hands with a towel. With one last look at herself, she draws a deep breath, and grabs the doorknob, exiting the bathroom.

//

Of course, Lexa immediately picks up on the change in her mood. “Is everything okay?”

“I – yes. No. Well, it’s not _not_ okay, but…” Right then and there, she decides _fuck it._ When else would be the best time to bring it up than now, with no distractions? “I’ve been thinking about – about Costia.”

Lexa pauses, a wet, soapy plate in her hand as she shoots Clarke a glance. Then, she resumes washing it. “Okay,” she says slowly, prompting her to continue.

Instead, she stands up and comes up to her, slowly, turning the water off and taking the now clean plate from her. Green eyes watch her, careful, as she puts it away and grabs the towel, offering it to Lexa before tugging her in the direction of the couch. Her gaze briefly turns amused at that, but when they sit down, she’s careful again.

This is not going to be easy. But she won’t be able to hide what’s on her mind, not from Lexa, and not something like this. In the end, it might lead to bigger problems. “I’m going to ask you a -- a rather delicate question,” she says, quietly. “And I understand if you choose not to answer, but I just want you to know what I’m thinking, okay?” She hopes Lexa understands.

Her softening gaze tells her she does. Lexa nods, and finds a more comfortable position to sit as she waits for Clarke to speak. So she does.

“Has Costia passed away?”

As soon as Lexa looks away, she knows.


	28. last chapters and the epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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Lexa’s still not looking at her and she’s not looking anywhere but at Lexa. She doesn’t look devastated; or even sad. She’s… pensive, again. Just like earlier, on their hike. Pensive, and uneasy, as she clearly contemplates something she’s not telling Clarke about yet.

She’s starting to regret the decision to ask her about her past love now. It could’ve waited. She would’ve been weird, perhaps, yes, but it could’ve waited till they came back and talked about it with Dr. Grant present.

(It doesn’t make her happy – this resigned realization that they’ve become somewhat dependent on their therapist. But there are things where she’s _necessary._ And this? This is definitely one of these things.)

“I didn’t expect you to figure it out so soon,” Lexa quietly confesses after a while. They’ve been sitting in silence for almost a minute. Clarke counted. The revelation should probably shock her, but all it brings is another wave of sadness. It feels – not right, but conclusive. It makes sense, all of it.

She curses herself for not speaking up before Lexa proved her right. She could’ve stopped her. Could’ve told her that – but it’s too late now. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. The three pillars of her life, resurfacing once again. Looming behind her, as if to remind her that some things will never change.

Is she destined to always cause Lexa pain?

Clarke inhales, sharply, closing her eyes and rubbing them as she tries to focus. To stop all the thoughts swarming in her head, like wasps ready to attack and sting till she no longer moves. She knows what’s happening, logically – Dr. Grant warned her that there might be bad days when she’d be consumed by guilt, and anything could be her trigger. Even something as small as burning a toast. Clarke remembers chuckling at that.

Now, she’s not sure she’ll ever laugh again.

She doesn’t know she’s trembling until there are arms around her, hands cupping her cheeks and travelling to her shoulders, and then back to her face. Lexa is frantic with her movements. “Clarke,” she hears. The voice sounds worried, and far away, and she grits her teeth together.

_Breathe. Focus. Come back to her. Be there for her. You’ll hate yourself later._

With some difficulty, she manages to open her eyes and get her breathing under control, meeting the concerned green. “I’m okay, I’m – I’m sorry,” she says, in a broken whisper. Lexa doesn’t let go of her, but her hands still, finding her waist and resting there. “I’m fine. I don’t know what came over me.”

 _Lie. Another lie. Even now, you’re still lying to her._ Her lip hurts when she bites into it, hard.

Lexa shakes her head, slowly. “This is why I was reluctant to tell you,” she starts, quietly. “I know what you’re thinking. But when we met, Clarke – I was ready to move on. I think, now, that I already did, even before I knew you.” Green eyes search hers, urging her to understand. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have let this go as far as it did.” She swallows, thickly, and her hands tighten on her waist. “I wouldn’t have let myself fall for you. I never did with anyone else.”

Clrke tells herself to listen to her. _Trust her,_ Dr. Grant used to say. _Trust her when she tells you about her feelings, whatever the nature of those is._ It was an important lesson, and their therapist never failed to mention that. She was concerned Clarke’s guilt might not let her believe in Lexa’s love when it was crucial.

The woman is a goddamn clairvoyant.

But that’s not what makes her stomach coil with horror. She believes Lexa. She knows she wouldn’t tell her something just to placate her without meaning it. Lexa _was_ ready to move on and start living her life again when she met her.

And she took her chance at finding happiness again and tore it to shreds.

Lexa’s not fast enough to grab her when she springs to her feet. Perhaps, she doesn’t want to. Clarke’s riled up enough as it is. The room is suddenly tiny, too tiny, and she finds herself on the verge of suffocating.

“Clarke.” Lexa stands up, too. She’s careful with her movements, now, probably afraid of scaring her away.

 _But she should,_ Clarke thinks. _She should want to scare me away. She shouldn’t be here with me. I shouldn’t be here with her._

She shakes her head, trying to get rid of the voice that’s not her own. _We’re starting over. We’ll be happy._

_She could be happy with me. I could – I could make her—_

“Listen to me.” Lexa’s inching closer to her. Another step, and she’s close enough to touch her, but she doesn’t. Instead, she spreads her arms, and the look in her eyes has none of the anguish, none of the hurt or heartbreak. All Clarke sees is gentle understanding shining back at her. “I’m here. With you. Come back to me, Clarke.” She spreads her arms wider, and takes another step towards her. “Come here,” she whispers.

Clarke thinks she wants to run, and never look back.

Lexa’s embrace is calm and soothing when she falls into her, blindly, and doesn’t let go.

//

They are back on the couch, again, only this time, Clarke’s curled up in Lexa’s arms as she listens to her breathe. She clutches to her shirt tighter when she feels her own breathing start to get shallow, and Lexa rubs soothing circles on her back when she feels her do that.

No one speaks for what seems like an hour. In reality, it’s probably around ten minutes. Longest ten minutes in Clarke’s entire life.

She’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you.” _An understatement,_ she thinks to herself. _More like a psychotic break._

Lexa's hold on her doesn't falter. “I wouldn’t call it that,” she says. “Your reaction is understandable, considering--” she cuts herself off, but she doesn’t need to say anything for Clarke to get it.

She guesses Lexa’s as sick of the word _guilt_ as she is _._ “Talk to me,” she says, instead, resuming her soothing touches. “Maybe getting it all out will help.” Clarke leans more into her, on instinct, when she feels her press her nose to the side of her head and breathe her in. “I don’t want you to get in your head about this,” she murmurs into her hair.

“I don’t get it.” The words are out before she can catch them. Clarke has no choice but to continue. “How can you…” she trails off, letting out a chuckle, half-hysteric and half-disbelieving. Lexa’s a little reluctant to let her go when she untangles herself from her, but she still lets her. Their eyes meet, and Clarke has to shake her head at how calm her gaze is. “You just told me your first love – died,” she chokes out. “And I made it about _myself_ , and you’re still…” She sighs, rubbing her temples that are starting to hurt – a clear sigh of an impeding headache. This past hour or so has been a lot.

“It’s not something you could control. I think that much is clear.” Lexa tells her. She’s still calm. Collected, with an even voice as she reaches out and slowly touches her arm, as if expecting Clarke to shrug it off. When she says her next words, however, Clarke hears it – a quiet, painful desperation seeping into her tone. Desperation for her to understand.

“I already lost her. I don’t want to lose you.”

She thinks she does understand. As sad as it is, and as agonizing as it must have been, for Lexa, Costia is the past. And Clarke is the present – painful, heartbreaking, terrible, but _present._ Here. The present that Lexa chose to fight for, despite all of the shit they’ve been through – despite all of the shit being her fault.

 _Mostly,_ Clarke thinks, and now, she recognizes herself in that voice. _Mostly your fault._

She takes a deep breath. If Lexa is baring her soul, so can she. “The reason I… reacted so strongly,” she starts, forcing herself to look at Lexa, “is because -- you were ready to put your trust in another person, and I took it, and I shattered it. Knowing about Costia makes what I’ve done _so_ much worse.”

“There was no way you could know about her.”

Clarke smirks. A tired, wry, bitter smirk. “That doesn’t make it better.” She doubts anything will make it better. “And here I go making this about myself again. Great,” she breathes out, shaking her head and breaking eye contact as she stares at the floor.

Beside her, Lexa lets out a small sigh and shifts so her feet are touching the ground, too. Clarke sees her rest her elbows on her knees, out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe we should hold off the discussion until we’re back,” she suggests, quietly. “I – I’m afraid of handling this the wrong way. I think we need Dr. Grant for this.”

Of course they do. Will they ever _not_ need a therapist to deal with their relationship?

 _She chose to fight for you. She chose_ you. _Don’t make her regret that decision._

But shouldn’t she stop her from making a decision that’s _not_ a right one?

“I shouldn’t have talked about her.” The remorse in Lexa’s whisper cuts right through Clarke, and the sharp sting is sobering. Like a slap in the middle of hysteria, she thinks. “I…”

 _You’re with her, so_ be _with her._ “Hey,” she says, kneeling in front of Lexa, settling between her knees. Her skin is warm to the touch when she gently grasps her chin and makes her look at her. “Don’t think like that. You couldn’t have gone your whole life without telling me, and with something like that… There is no right place or time.” She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip. “I think it’s never easy to talk about death. You can’t prepare for a conversation about it. It will always be unexpected, and sad. Besides,” she makes herself smile, gently studying green eyes looking at her, “you didn’t tell me anything. I was the one to bring it up, remember?”

“Well, I am still partly to blame,” Lexa says, but it’s not without humor, and Clarke’s chest thaws and warms. “I know how smart you are – of course you would’ve figured it out.”

She bites her lower lip again, fighting a bashful smile that wants to spread across her face at the compliment. “You’re right,” she says, clearing her throat. “We should probably wait until we see Dr. Grant again to discuss this in detail.” She’s not sure how she will react to Lexa telling her about Costia’s life – and death. She _wants_ to know – she wants Lexa to share it with her, to confide in her as any normal couple does with each other. But she doesn’t think she can. Not right now.

“Okay,” Lexa nods. Green eyes are still careful as they study her, but she seems to relax, and Clarke breathes with relief.

“Okay. I promise I won’t get in my head too much.” She swallows. “I’ll try not to think about it.” Much, much easier said than done, but she has to at least try. For both of their sake – and for her sanity.

Lexa seems to be thinking along these lines, as well. There’s doubt in her gaze, but she quickly conceals it, and Clarke chooses not to comment. “We could leave now, if you want,” she says. “I’m sure Dr. Grant would be open to an emergency meeting.” Her lips twitch in a small smile. “You’re definitely her favorite.”

Clarke scoffs. “Please. Have you seen the way she looks at you? I’m honestly getting worried, sometimes.” She’s mostly joking. Mostly.

Lexa’s face takes on a thoughtful expression. “I never did date an older woman,” she muses, much to Clarke’s – faux – dismay. Lexa’s small smile appears, and grows. “Kidding. I’m kidding.”

“I should hope so,” Clarke grumbles, but her own smile betrays her pretense. She rises from her previous position between Lexa’s knees, feeling her heart flutter in her chest when she looks up at her. Openly, her green eyes wide with innocence and trust.

She’ll never stop wondering how Lexa managed to not become a hardened shell of a person doing what she does. Living the life she lives. She’ll never stop being grateful, either. “But really, I don’t think we need to leave now. We’ll be fine.” Lexa takes the hand she offers, standing up in front of her. “You want to go for a swim?”

“Sure. I want to watch you swim even more.”

//

She mentally thanks her past self for choosing the cabin with the pool. _It’s almost as if I knew I’d need something to cool me down,_ she thinks to herself.

Swimming helps her clear her head somewhat. At the very least, she isn’t thinking about anything in particular. Just focuses on her breathing and movements. Stroke – head turned – breathe in. Stroke – head underwater – breathe out.

Lexa’s watching her with a muted smile when she stills and grasps the edge, resting her crossed arms on it as she gets her breathing under control. “I don’t know much about Olympics, but you look like you’re ready for them,” she states.

Clarke glances her way, finding her on the pool lounge, ankles crossed and legs stretched out. “That’s precisely because you don’t know much about them,” she quips, with a lopsided smirk.

Lexa tilts her head to the right. “Ouch,” she grins. Then, her expression grows more serious. “Aren’t you tired?”

“A little bit,” Clarke admits. It _has_ been a while since she swam like that. Her arms are already aching – not a good sign.

She notices Lexa trying not to frown. “It’s gonna get dark soon,” she comments lightly before standing up. “I’ll start the dinner. You’re more than welcome to join.” She flashes Clarke a smirk before starting to head inside, and she sighs. She knows she’s trying to give her space. And she appreciates that, and she loves how thoughtful she always is – but that’s not something she wants. Space is definitely not something she’s looking forward to.

Space allows for more thinking. And that’s exactly what she’s trying to avoid.

She climbs out of the pool, quickly, and grabs a towel, hurrying after Lexa.

//

There’s an interesting thing about Lexa that she’s noticed a while ago, but is only fully realizing now. She’s – scarily – good at hiding her true feelings most of the time. If it weren’t for her eyes betraying her emotions – and her feelings for Clarke making her become more open with her, she hopes – never in a million years would she know what’s going through her head at any given moment. Both her face and her body language are always in check. Showing what Lexa wants them to show. Sometimes, she wonders if it’s an innate ability or she was taught that from a young age.

(She doesn’t know much about Lexa’s father, but what she does know is enough to think he’s been training his children to be corporate robots.)

But, just like her eyes, her _touch_ can never lie. At least to Clarke. That’s why, she thinks, she held on and couldn’t let her go when they were sleeping together. It felt impersonal after, but never _during –_ Lexa’s hands told her the truth her words were refusing. Hands, and lips, and the way she’d press closer to her and nuzzle her neck while she clung to her back, crying out for her… It was never mechanical. It could never be just sex as long as Lexa was in love with her, whether or not she wanted that.

She’s thinking about it as she lies in Lexa’s hold while the latter is pretending to be asleep. Right now, Lexa is tense, and her hands are careful and tentative, and her touch is telling her what she won’t.

She’s still worried. She’s _scared._

And Clarke hates that.

She turns in her arms so she faces her. Lexa isn’t always peaceful in her sleep. There are shadows crossing her face, and her lashes trembling, and jaw flexing as she dreams. That’s how she knows she’s awake. It’s easy to see through her carefully fabricated façade after spending so many nights together.

The thought brings a wave of warmth, and that’s what gives her the courage to reach out and caress Lexa’s check. Gently but purposefully, silently letting her know she knows she’s not asleep.

Green eyes flutter open. Lexa doesn’t bother with pretending she woke her up. Her gaze is sharp and aware. “Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?” Clarke whispers, her palm cupping her cheek. Her usually smooth skin feels a little dry. The mountain wind and the mountain sun did their damage. Nothing a little cream won’t fix, she thinks absentmindedly.

Lexa nods. “How are you?”

She smiles. “I won’t break any time soon,” she says confidently. Seeing Lexa like this – worried and unsure and out of her element – always does that. Kicks her right into action. It doesn’t make her stronger, but it does remind her she should and is able to be strong. To handle everything, anything – for her. For them.

Lexa’s gaze is tense. Heavy. “Perhaps we should’ve left today.”

“Lexa,” she breathes out. Finds her hand under the covers and squeezes. She can’t stop her smile as it widens, because she _knows_ now, for sure, that she’s stronger than this. That they are stronger than this. She doesn’t know where this confidence is coming from, but she’s definitely not about to question it. Not when that just might be one of the very few things her sanity is holding onto. “I love you more than I love my guilt addiction.”

Lexa frowns. “Don’t think about it like that.”

“But it _is_ exactly that,” she says. “I’m aware of that. It makes it easier to fight it.”

Lexa’s sigh is warm. Minty. She scoots closer; full lips are chapped, having suffered the same fate as Lexa’s skin. She doesn’t care as she catches them in a sweet kiss. Lexa will never be _not_ delicious to her, she thinks.

“Stop thinking so much,” she recites her earlier words to her when they part, and Lexa smiles, finally. Weakly, but she does, and Clarke tightens her hold on her hand. It’s both surreal and logical - how easy it is for them to communicate both with words and without. She reasons they already experienced what the lack of communication might do, and that’s not something they want to happen this time around. Or it could be therapy. Whatever it is, she’s happy they reached this stage.

“Okay,” Lexa says. “I – okay.” She draws in a shuddering breath and slowly releases it, blinking.

“Sleep,” she whispers to her. “I’ll make you some pancakes tomorrow.”

Lexa’s smile becomes stronger, and amused. “I love your pancakes.”

“I know.” She grins. “The faster you go to sleep, the more I’ll make.”

“That’s bribery.” Lexa’s still smiling.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

They drift off almost simultaneously, with Clarke watching Lexa sleep for a moment with drowsy eyes before she joins her.

//

The batter sizzles in the pan, and Clarke hurriedly reduces the heat, cursing. “Stupid stove,” she grumbles. Not having much experience with gas burners certainly isn’t coming in handy right now. She flips the pancake over, and it is definitely not the golden brown she was going for.

Strong arms entwine her waist as a warm body presses against her from behind, and she sighs, leaning back into it. “I screwed up,” she says. As an inanimate object, the stove easily withstands her glare.

Lexa chuckles next to her ear. The sound is raspy, low – still tinged with sleep, and her hands are slow when they draw soothing circles on her stomach. “It’s just the first one,” she says, peering over her shoulder and calmly surveying the disaster of a pancake that Clarke dumped on a plate. “Wait for a little while before starting on the next one, and you should be fine. The pan doesn’t take long to cool off.”

“Right.” She sighs again, absentmindedly whisking the batter as she stares down at it. Her hand hovers over the pan, trying to test the temperature. It’s okay, more or less, and she’s too hungry to wait any longer – pretty sure Lexa is hungry, too, even though she’d never admit it to her while she’s like… this.

As far as Lexa’s concerned, she’s a china doll barely balancing on the edge of a counter. Clarke finds she’s too drained to try and argue about that.

Especially since it may or may _not_ be true to a _certain_ extent.

“Right,” Lexa echoes, a smile audible in her voice as she watches Clarke carefully add a quarter of a cupful to the pan. “See?” Her arms tighten around her, just for a second, and she battles the urge to sigh for the third time in a span of ten minutes.

Lexa’s embrace is warm, soothing, solid – and her _mother_ hugs her with more passion than that.

“Yeah,” she says, and flips it over when it becomes bubbly on top. “I see.”

//

She grins and chuckles when they eat their breakfast in silence. Lexa’s careful questioning gaze makes her chuckle louder. “I’m sorry,” she manages. “It’s just – this is insane. This whole…” she trails off, shaking her head as she tries to figure out how to phrase it better. “We came here feeling better – healthier than ever, and now…”

Lexa stands up. She does it slowly; gradually. As if afraid to spook her, and Clarke is afraid to find she hates it.

“Nothing’s changed,” she says, and it sounds stronger than she looks.

“You’re walking on eggshells around me.” Clarke doesn’t _mean_ for it to sound accusing, but to her ears, it still does. When Lexa winces, briefly, she knows it sounds like that to her, too. “I’m not a porcelain doll, Lexa.”

“I’ve seen the extent of your guilt, Clarke.” She doesn’t react to her irritation. Of course she doesn’t. Lexa’s far too wise – far too careful for that, _isn’t she?_ “I’ve seen where it almost took you.”

“What? Because I got drunk that one time?” What’s happening to her? She suddenly feels more outside of her body than within. It’s as if she’s split – one half an observer and one a participant. And the observer feels entirely too helpless to do anything to prevent what looks to be a giant storm brewing.

She got to Lexa. She can see that. In the twitch of her lips and in the darkening of her gaze, she can see that. “That night,” she starts, slowly, and Clarke knows she’s going to regret her outburst. But hey – what’s another one to her? She already has a fine goddamn collection of things to regret. “That night, you didn’t just _get drunk._ You were on the verge of--” She catches herself sharply, with fingers curling to form fists at her sides as she looks away from her. But she doesn’t need to continue for Clarke to understand. Or, rather, to prove her growing suspicions that she’s had for – well, ever since that night.

How is it possible that they dedicate so much time and effort to communicating with each other and attend fucking _couples therapy_ and they’ve never once talked about it?

(But then again, how is their entire relationship possible after everything she… they’ve done to each other?)

(Dr. Grant is as sharply-dressed and smartly-looking as ever in Clarke’s mind as she stares at her. _She loves you. Try to always remember that._ )

“Killing myself,” she sighs as she finishes Lexa’s sentence and watches her shrink at her words. “You think I’m suicidal.”

Lexa blindly finds her chair and collapses into it. “I thought I was too late.” The confession hangs in the air between them, heavy and drenched in sorrow. “The entire time I drove to you, I thought I was too late. I couldn’t hear anything over the phone – you dropped it when you ran to the bathroom.” Any other day Clarke would’ve probably felt a twinge of old shame at being reminded of the more than undignified position Lexa found her in. Any other day. “And when I got there and the door was… unlocked and opened, just barely. Just a crack.” She swallows. “I froze before barging in. For a second, I just stood there because – I was so afraid of what I might find.”

“Why did you never tell me?” She asks, quietly, and stands up when Lexa shrugs. She looks lost. So lost, and it’s her fault again, but that’s not what’s important. It never, _ever_ is.

She kneels in front of her, gently grasping her hands and making her look up to meet her eyes. “Was that how you lost her?” she whispers.

“No,” Lexa finds her voice. It’s a little hoarse, but she doesn’t try to clear her throat. “No, Costia – she had a weak heart.” She doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t need to.

Every time she thinks she understands everything there is to understand about Lexa, she’s proven wrong. But she doesn’t think she minds. Each new discovery only makes her love stronger. “You thought she left you.” Green eyes flash, in silent protest, but Clarke continues in a soothing voice. “For a while, even though you knew that’s not true, that it wasn’t something she could stop, you thought she left you, because in the end… In the end, she was gone, and you were still here.” She blinks back her tears. Thinks about her father in a hospital room, covered with a hospital sheet. “But I _won’t,_ Lexa. Even if _this_ crashes and burns, we’ll still be here. I’ll still be here.”

“You can’t promise that.” Lexa’s voice is hollow.

“ _Listen_ to me,” Clarke says, strongly. “I can, and I _am,_ and I’ll try my hardest to keep it.”

Everyone’s so afraid of promises, she realizes. Even them; especially them. Because promises are so easily broken. Because promises require trusting yourself, first and foremost. And Clarke thinks she finally does.

She can tell Lexa’s surprised when she kisses her. She keeps it feather-light. Lips ghosting over lips, a warm breath of air accompanying small touches. She’s savoring her, as if it’s the very first taste – or the very last. Something precious. Something that will never be the same again. It’s never the same with Lexa. It’s always both new and familiar. It’s a feeling she doesn’t want to get used to.

Lexa lets out a shuddering sigh when her lips carefully map out her jaw and slide down to her neck with those same slow, shy strokes. There’s something building in her chest. Something big, and hopeful, and strong, and she holds onto it as she rises back to her feet and tugs Lexa with her, arms winding around her neck.

Lexa’s thumbs caressing her sides are less and less tentative. “Clarke,” she sighs into her mouth, just before Clarke’s lips claim hers, this time surer, with some hunger seeping into the touch. “Clarke, she chokes out when they part, and their foreheads find each other while Clarke’s fingertips paint her cheeks, and jaw, and collarbones, never resting. Her thumb grazes her lower lip, just barely, and then, they are kissing again.

Clarke’s dimly aware of being lead somewhere as they stumble, blindly, into the bedroom. It’s only when Lexa falls down, taking her with her, that she realizes where she is – that’s how absorbed she became in her for a moment.

Lexa pulls away when she stills in her arms. “Clarke,” she says again, this time calling to her. Brushes her hair away from her face and cups her cheeks. “Stay with me.”

She shouldn’t. They shouldn’t. She shouldn’t…

“I need you,” Lexa whispers into her neck, and she shutters. Falls into her, like a summer lake in the middle of draught. She can’t think for both of them anymore, and she doesn’t _have to._

She’s half-delirious with want and love, and Lexa looks and feels the same way. They’ll probably take their time with round two, or three, but right now, clothes are so unnecessary, and Lexa’s the only thing she needs to survive.

“I missed you,” she murmurs to her, in-between kisses and shedding clothes. “I missed you so much,” she tells her. Prays to her, as they finally feel each other, fully, skin to skin, sighing when they do. She almost wants to cry, because it’s perfect, in all of its flaws.

“I missed you, too.”

She slows down before they go further, just for a moment, to study Lexa. To make sure she’s fine, and they are fine, and what they are about to do is fine, too. But Lexa tugs her back, impatiently, and leaves a heated, desperate kiss on her lips that begs her to keep going. And she can’t deny her that.

God, it’s been so long since she touched her like this. More than half a year. Feels much, much longer than that. She’s still the same. Smooth, warm skin and rapid heartbeat. That same gaze, laced with nervous reverence and longing and, underneath it all, _love_.

No one’s looked at her the way Lexa does. And there’s no one else she wants to look at her like that.

“Hey.” Lexa’s whisper is shaking and worried. “Hey. Come here. I’m sorry.” Clarke only realizes there are tears sliding down her cheeks when Lexa’s trembling hands cup her face, wiping at them. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, caressing her cheeks. “We’ll stop.”

Clarke turns her head and kisses her thumb. “But I don’t want to stop.” Her voice hasn’t been this husky for a long time. Lexa likes it. She can see it in her eyes, where concern clashes with hunger.

“But you’re--”

“—yours,” Clarke interrupts. “And you’re mine. And I’ll go crazy if I don’t touch you soon. Like, right now.”

Lexa takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Do you want to stop?” One last time. She’ll ask her one last time.

“No.” That’s all she needs to know.

Lexa’s hands grasp at her back, bringing forth another explosion of feelings. It hits her that she’s only had her like this a handful of times that fateful Christmas night. The one night Lexa’s surrendered to her, so completely and willingly, only to have it ruin her.

 _No. Stop. She’s here with you now, and she wants to be yours._ And if anything, she owes it to her to make up for it by _worshipping_ her. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to do this nay other way.

She can’t look away from Lexa’s face when she hooks her fingers under the waistband of her briefs. Lexa stares right back, her awed gaze unwavering as she clings to her. This is it, she thinks. A fraction of the trust she’s broken and worked so hard to earn back. And now it’s hers. Perhaps, not completely, not wholly yet, but they are almost there.

“Lexa,” she calls, quietly, because she can’t _not_ say her name when she’s looking at her like that. She only hopes her own gaze is able to convey all of her devotion. Lexa’s laying under her, open and warm, and their eyes meet and don’t look away.

The confession bubbles in her chest and clutches at her throat. “I love you.”

Lexa entwines their fingers together when Clarke’s other hand tugs her underwear down her legs, and she kicks it off, baring herself. “I love you, too,” she whispers back. It’s soft, and shy; still tentative, almost as if she can’t quite believe this is happening. And it’s more than enough.

The way she sighs when Clarke’s finger trails through her folds for the first time is quiet, and sweet. Clarke herself is louder when it happens, gasping as finding Lexa slick with heat. Practically drenched. Is that what she does to her?

She never wants this to end, but she wants to see Lexa fall apart for her even more.

Green eyes are wide, hazy as they drink her in. Clarke can see she’s struggling not to let them flutter shut as she starts to move, and that knowledge fills her chest with longing sweetness.

_She wants to see me, too._

Her hand is maddeningly, achingly slow. Clarke thinks she wouldn’t be able to pick up the pace even if she wanted to. It’s like her body’s acting of its own accord, and it’s gone so long without feeling her that it’s trying to savor each and every second. Each and every movement. Each and every sigh and breath and cry.

And Lexa’s not rushing her. She seems to perfectly understand just what it is Clarke’s going through. Perhaps, it’s written all over her face – the inability to fully grasp it’s _actually_ happening.

Or, perhaps, she wants to prolong it as much as Clarke does. And Clarke – Clarke sets out to explore her all over again.

Her fingers part her folds, drawing another shaking sigh from her, but she doesn’t go inside just yet. She remembers Lexa likes to be teases first, just a little. She likes it when she circles her clit with the very tip, and she likes it when she flicks it up and down, with increasing pressure, and she likes it when she finally, _finally_ pushes into her with two careful fingers, letting her adjust and making her feel deliciously _filled._

She _remembers_ that. She doesn’t just _know_ that, but she remembers it, because it’s something she’s _done_ before. And yet, it was so long ago it seems like another lifetime, and this is both new and familiar and – exhilarating. Overwhelming. It’s _Lexa,_ and _her,_ and _them,_ and her mind is bursting with thinking everything at once and nothing at all.

Her fingers curl inside her – just the way she likes it, and she _remembers_ that. There’s an entire galaxy exploding somewhere deep within her chest when Lexa’s mouth falls open and she arches, and arches, and rolls her hips in time with her quickening pace. She immediately misses her eyes; but Lexa lets out a shuddering breath and forces them open, locking their gazes once again so Clarke can drown again. And she does.

“Clarke,” Lexa cries quietly – _begs,_ and she can’t hold back from moaning at the sound. “I – _God,_ ” she chokes. Her fingers squeeze Clarke’s harder. She knows she’s getting closer.

She _remembers._ Remembers. “I’m here,” she says in a fervent whisper. Breaks their eye contact for a short second to press a sweet kiss to the corner of Lexa’s mouth, and her chin, and her lower lip. “I’m with you. I’m--” she catches a sob, biting her lip, and now Lexa’s the one who leans up and peppers kisses on her face before catching her lips with her own.

She’s so absorbed in a kiss she barely notices Lexa’s unoccupied hand travel down her body and come to rest at the apex of her thighs. But still notices, and marvels when her body rocks into it, impatiently.

“I,” Lexa murmurs against her lips as their open eyes search each other’s. “Can I…”

“You never have to ask,” she whispers.

Being left-handed was never something she was particularly happy or unhappy about. But in this moment, she feels _blessed_ , because Lexa’s dominant hand is right, and they can still hold hands while they make love to each other – to _each other!_ Clarke’s so taken with that thought she almost misses the moment Lexa touches her. It’s her loud gasp and her widening eyes that bring her back to the reality and hold her there.

She’s absolutely _drenched,_ and unapologetically happy to have Lexa find out what she does to her.

“ _Clarke.”_ It’s funny, she thinks – how her name used to be a curse and is now a prayer falling from Lexa’s lips. She likes this much, _much_ better.

“I love you,” she replies, breathlessly. Because she couldn’t for so long and now she can, and it’s all she can think and say and _feel._ “I love you, Lexa – so much. So fucking much…”

She’s muttering something else, or the same thing over and over again, but she doesn’t – can’t even concentrate on what she’s saying because Lexa starts to move, too, quickly entering her with three of her fingers because she knows – _remembers_ she can take it. Clarke adds another finger, as well, rewarded by a short cry while she’s still whispering heated love confessions to Lexa.

And then, they dissolve in one another. Clarke thinks she won’t recall exactly what they were doing. But she’ll always remember green eyes full of dazed wonder and the strong grip of Lexa’s fingers entwined with hers and the taste of salt on their skin and lips as they loved each other. And soft sighs turned sweet moans; and warm scent of sweat and their shared arousal; and velvet silk wrapped around her fingers.

She thinks it’s fitting when Lexa breaks first, slowly, gradually. She never looks away as she starts clenching. “Clarke,” she struggles to speak, and clings to her as she begins to tremble, “I – I’m… coming, Clarke, I’m going to--”

When she cuts herself off with a gasp, that’s Clarke’s undoing. She implodes, starting from within and spreading throughout her body in a myriad of colors, all pouring out and out as her heart bleeds in her chest. There’s dull pain that comes with that pure, absolute pleasure, but it doesn’t taint it – if anything, it makes it sharper. More profound. Real. It feels like a wall comes crashing down, and she’s free falling head first into the ocean beneath.

And then, she emerges, and Lexa’s still here, and there are droplets sliding down her temples as she watches her with shining eyes.

“Lexa,” she rasps, and suppresses a cough – her voice is suddenly hoarse. “Are you--”

“--yours,” she interrupts. “Yes. And you’re mine.”

**//**

There are kisses being gently pressed to her cheeks when she rises from her light slumber. It’s a quiet, gradual awakening; and she thinks nothing would’ve suited this more.

“Hi,” Lexa whispers to her when her eyes flutter open. The room’s gone dark, and she’s facing her as they lie tangled up in each other. Their legs are entwined together; and their fingers, and their breath. Clarke’s not sure where she ends and Lexa begins, and she wants that to last forever.

“Hi,” she whispers back, and buries her hand in Lexa’s disheveled hair as she tugs her even closer to lay a kiss on her lips. Tastes her shy smile and sleepily grins in reply, feeling Lexa’s hand leisurely rub her back.

Lexa rests her forehead on hers when they part, slowly, after several seconds. “I can’t believe I went this long without you,” she says quietly. The brilliant green of her eyes shines at Clarke. Contented. _Happy._ Her heart squeezes in her chest, almost painfully. “I missed this.” Her confession is shy and sweet, and she absolutely adores her like that.

She presses their lips together again, just for a small, quick peck. Just to feel her more, closer. After breaking the metaphorical dam today, she never wants to stop touching Lexa. Not even for a second. She has a feeling she’s going to be the clingiest person on earth for the next month, at the very least. But, judging by the way Lexa leans into her, she doesn’t exactly mind.

It’s not like she’d be able to stop it even if she tried. Lexa will have to either accept that or move to another continent.

“I missed you, too,” she repeats her earlier words, smiling. God. This has been – _a lot._ She’s imagined this very moment so many times. Thought of it, dreamt of it, _drew_ it – she can already picture the faint pink of Lexa’s cheeks when she shows her the sketches. Because she can, now.

In her – many, _many_ – fantasies, however, they made love more than once during their heartfelt reconciliation. And she’s not saying it wasn’t heartfelt. It was, and so much more – but it was also exhausting, on a certain level. She poured her very _soul_ out. They both did. Understandably, they needed a nap afterwards.

She brushes her thumb across Lexa’s cheekbone before leaving a kiss where her finger’s been a second ago. “What time is it?” she murmurs.

Lexa shrugs and makes no move to search for any of their phones. For some reason, that makes Clarke infinitely happier. “No idea,” she grins. “Don’t care.”

“Me neither,” Clarke lets her know, and kisses her again. Lexa’s smile doesn’t fade when she pulls away.

“How do you feel?” She has to check. It’s going to be a long time before she learns not to. But, right now, in this moment, she doesn’t think it’s such a bad thing to do.

Habits die hard. Some of them, you just learn to live with.

Lexa nuzzles her cheek, and she knows she’s not mad or anxious or annoyed. “I feel perfect,” she tells her in a low, husky voice. “Thanks to you.” Clarke’s body is already responding to her affection, so it’s not like she doesn’t know the answer when she asks: “how do _you_ feel?”

“I,” Clarke tries, and the rest is lost in a tiny moan when Lexa’s hands find her chest and fingers teasingly run under the generous swell of her breast. Still, she pushes through. “I – incredible. I feel amazing.” Her mouth seeks Lexa’s, greedily, desperately, and her head spins when their tongues softly brush against each other. “You feel amazing,” she breathes out when Lexa slowly pulls away.

She doesn’t expect her to roll them over, and so she lets out an uncharacteristic squeak when she does and hovers above with a tiny, smug smirk. “That was so cute,” she tells her, and her smirk only widens when Clarke pouts.

“Cute,” she sighs. “I can live with that.”

“Good,” Lexa says, leaning down to peck her lips. “Because you are.”

“So are you.”

“I am not,” comes the immediate indignant scoff. “I am badass and awesome.”

“Oh?” Clarke raises one teasing eyebrow while her hands slowly trail up Lexa’s back and over her shoulders. “And I’m not?”

“Well. You are. But you’re also cute.”

“So why can’t _you_ be both badass and cute?” Clarke asks suavely. Her fingers dance across Lexa’s tense biceps, feather-light and playful.

“I, uh,” Lexa falters, too distracted by her touches. When Clarke leans up and softly nibbles at her chin, she gives up. “Yes. Sure,” she mutters, and chases after her lips. She smiles into the kiss, but soon, the kiss grows bolder, and it fades, leaving behind the low, heated pressure in her lower stomach that spreads throughout her whole body.

“Lexa,” she hotly breathes into her mouth. Suddenly, her hands are everywhere, and she writhes under them, already on edge, knowing she doesn’t need much to tip her over. This – Lexa’s weight pressing her into the bed, her hands grasping, greedy, kneading as she slowly devours her – she never wants to lose this again. She _can’t_ lose this again.

It’s laughable – how close she is to falling apart from the mere feeling of _belonging_ to her again in this way that’s almost primal. Lexa’s bare thigh presses between her legs, tentative, testing, and she gasps into her neck at finding her already dripping.

“Faster,” she moans. Her arms wind around her shoulders as she clings to her, hips rolling to find relieving pressure. “I want – _faster_.” The sudden need to be taken – _owned –_ is almost overwhelming, and she’s too caught up in it to give it any other meaning that her simply _craving_ Lexa. Craving being Lexa’s.

Long, slender fingers carefully probe at her, but they are met with no resistance when they slip inside. Two – Clarke arches her back, gasping. Three – her legs wrap around Lexa’s waist, almost of their own accord, spreading her open before her. Lexa’s even deeper now; so, so much closer to her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Fuck,” tumbles from her lips before she finds Lexa’s and practically bites into them with her own. _Harder,_ she thinks, but all the leaves her mouth is a pitiful whine because somehow, Lexa _gets_ her and actually complies. It’s over embarrassingly quick, with Clarke crying out into Lexa’s mouth as she clenches around her, fast and rhythmical, while pleasure surges through her veins.

Except Lexa doesn’t stop after this. She pulls away and shifts, resting most of her weight on her elbow. Her fingers continue to move inside Clarke, slower, her thrusts accentuated by her rolling hips. “Look at me,” she says – demands, and Clarke’s eyes, previously screwed shut in sharp pleasure, fly open, meeting the dark green.

All she can do is hold on for dear life while Lexa takes her. Her first orgasm helped take the edge off, and now, she’s not worried about this ending too soon. This time, her pleasure builds slower, more gradual, and Lexa knows that – _remembers,_ Clarke thinks again with that same elated awe.

When Lexa curls her fingers, she expects – and welcomes – the numb tingles all over her body as they run under her skin. It’s indescribable. The only possible thing to do is to feel, and so she does, grasping at Lexa as she rides the waves of her pleasure, writhing and moaning near uncontrollably.

“Fuck,” Lexa whispers when she rolls her hips up to meet her strokes. “I love it when you do that.” The only comprehensible reply Clarke can give her is another moan, but Lexa seems to accept that. “You feel so good,” she tells her, in that low tone of hers that drives Clarke insane – not that there’s something about her that doesn’t. “So hot wrapped around my fingers. So soft, so _wet…_ Such a good girl…” She’s losing it, too, Clarke can tell; by the shaking of her voice and the abrupt pauses between her heated words. That only makes it better.

 _My girl,_ Lexa murmurs into her neck in-between kisses and nibbles. _Mine,_ and Clarke’s nails dig into her skin. It’s not long, now. All it takes is another ragged stroke, another messy kiss and fervent praise, and Clarke is coming, hard and long, spilling all over Lexa’s fingers. And Lexa’s right there, holding her when she shatters. Greedily watching her fall apart.

When she comes to it, Lexa’s arms are around her, strong and secure while she’s pressing kisses to her hair. She lifts her head from her chest to look at her relaxed face. “We are never leaving this bed,” she tells her, seriously.

Lexa doesn’t laugh. She simply gazes back, swallowing. “I have no objections,” she murmurs. Her fingers are slow and careful when she brushes Clarke’s hair away from her face. She can smell herself on them; without thinking, she takes her hand and guides it to her mouth, lazily licking them clean while Lexa watches, still and wide-eyed.

Salty.

She doesn’t stop there. Her palm is next, and Clarke softly nibbles at the skin with her lips while Lexa’s fingers stroke her cheekbone. One final kiss, and she moves on to her jaw as she gently rolls them over. Her neck. Delicate, defined collarbones – Clarke can’t deny herself the pleasure of licking and sucking on those, and Lexa shudders under her mouth. Her sighs are the encouragement Clarke needs, and so she slides lower. Takes her time with her chest, raining kisses upon it as she gently cups the soft flesh, and Lexa arches into her touch, letting out a small moan. Her legs fall open, and she rolls her hips up, expecting Clarke to provide the friction she seeks.

But that’s not quite what she has in mind. And Lexa quickly catches on when she slides _lower,_ her lips trailing a wet path down her taut stomach and tongue dipping in her belly button on the way.

“Clarke.” It’s both an awed plea and an apprehensive inquiry. Lexa’s hand runs through her hair, urging her to slow down. When she looks up, green eyes are wide, almost alarmed. “You--” Lexa says, and cuts herself off, swallowing.

She rises back up, wanting to soothe her. Lexa’s lips are hesitant despite the desire she can taste there. “You don’t have to,” she tells her in a ragged whisper.

“But I want to,” Clarke replies. Her own eyes must’ve gone practically black with need. Her voice drops lower. “I want to taste you,” she breathes out, and Lexa can’t hold back a broken gasp. “So – so bad. Just…” She inhales, and holds her breath for a second. “Guide me?”

“Yes.” The emerald sparkles. “If you’re sure.” And Clarke descends back down her body, leaving small, unhurried kisses as she does. Lexa’s stomach is quivering by the time she comfortably settles in between her shyly spread legs, running her hands over her thighs. “God,” she hears a choked sigh when she presses a lingering kiss to her lower stomach. Lexa’s abs jump and tense when she tentatively licks down the outline of her v cut, and she grins at that despite her own nerves.

And she has a lot of those. Because – of course she wants to do this. But she also wants to make Lexa feel good, and she’s never done this before, and – she probably shouldn’t be overanalyzing this when she’s quite literally face to face with the task.

An increasingly daunting one.

She draws a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Lexa’s scent fills her lungs, warm and salty, with a hint of musk, and she closes her eyes for a second as she savors it. She’s still nervous, but only a little. This is connecting with Lexa on a whole other level, and she’s letting her do this. She’s here, pliant and willing and quietly eager as she watches her with wide, trusting eyes, and how can she think of anything other than _her?_

Lexa chokes out another sigh when she nuzzles at her inner thigh, scooting closer to her core and getting a better look. She’s beautiful; of course she’s beautiful. Glistening wet and pretty pink. Waiting for her claim. Clarke grounds against the mattress at the thought, involuntarily, and leans in. The scent is damn near mouthwatering, and she swallows as she licks her lips and looks up at Lexa, whose mouth falls open in nervous anticipation.

Her fingers find Lexa’s and entwine with them as she wraps her other hand around Lexa’s thigh and gently tugs her down. Soft. That’s what she tastes first. Soft, yet firm, and warm, almost hot, and wet and _delicious_ on her tongue. Clarke’s eyes screw shut in pleasure against her will as her licks through Lexa’s delicate folds grow bolder, and larger. She explores her with all the tenderness she can muster, even though everything inside her screams at her to _dive_ in and _devour._

When Lexa’s hand finds the back of her head and her hips roll against her face, the gesture tinged with impatience, she knows she wouldn’t exactly mind. Lexa’s eyes are wild and crystal green when she opens hers and sees them staring at her. She’s breathing raggedly now; her hand lets go of her hair to grasp at the sheets and _squeeze_ when Clarke’s tongue travels up and gently flicks against her clit.

“Oh god, Clarke,” she moans, and that’s her cue.

She tries to remember the things Lexa’s done to her that she loved, but that proves to be difficult when she’s surrounded by everything Lexa. She can’t think, pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to form coherent sentences if she was asked to. There’s only _her_ , with legs on her shoulders as she drips in her mouth.

Clarke’s determined to drink her till the very last drop.

She’s quivering under her tongue now. Clarke can feel it, and it’s like nothing she’s ever experienced. Nothing she’s ever expected. It’s so different from simply touching her with her fingers. Feeling her like that has got to be the most intimate thing she’s ever done with anyone.

And Lexa’s never, ever been this vulnerable before her. This is a gift that’s nothing short of divine.

She gathers her wetness with her lips, only for more to come out, running down her chin. Clarke only smiles to herself. Brushes her thumb across Lexa’s knuckles and gently but firmly presses on her lower stomach, holding her still.

She leans in again to give Lexa’s cunt a long, sloppy kiss, and Lexa lets out a sharp, choking cry as she freezes. And then, Clarke pushes her tongue _in,_ feeling the velvet silk of her walls, and cries in delight herself when Lexa flutters and _squeezes_ around her, shouting her name.

 _She’s never been this loud,_ she thinks absentmindedly as she nuzzles against her, hand caressing her body anywhere she can reach while Lexa comes down from her high. _This is incredible._

She only stops her kisses and licks when Lexa weakly pushes at her head. Her breathing is still uneven when she climbs up and watches her with unabashed curiosity and awe.

“How do you feel?”

Lexa lets out a breathless chuckle. “What do you think?” She asks, voice rough. Clarke shrugs, and green eyes roll as Lexa tugs her down by the back of her neck. “You were amazing,” she whispers. Clarke’s chest flares up with pride and sweet, delirious happiness when Lexa gives her a deep kiss. She grins when she hums at the taste of herself she finds there. “I didn’t… expect to finish this soon,” Lexa quietly confesses when they part.

Clarke’s smile grows wider. “I took it as a compliment,” she tells her, feeling cheeky. Probably looking like it, too, if Lexa’s raised eyebrow is any indication.

“You should,” she tells her before kissing her again. Clarke could do this all day, she thinks. Lay there trading kisses in-between lovemaking. Too bad it isn’t possible.

As if echoing her thoughts, Lexa’s phone starts ringing just as full lips begin to softly nibble at her neck. She thinks she’s going to hate that thing a lot more in the years to come.

Lexa sighs and pulls away, giving her an apologetic look. “It’s probably Anya,” she says. “I, uh – I haven’t told her we will be… prolonging our stay.”

Clarke nods, and her pout disappears when Lexa leans in and kisses it. “You should get it,” she sighs. Lexa tries to stand up when she grabs the phone from the nightstand, but Clarke’s arms wrapped around her torso from behind make it rather difficult.

“Clarke,” Lexa laughs. But doesn’t move.

“Don’t want to let you go,” Clarke murmurs into her shoulder, and kisses it. “You can answer it here.”

Lexa only shakes her head, but complies. “Anya,” she states in lieu of greeting as she swipes across the display.

“ _Where are you?”_ Anya’s voice is sharp and impatient. Right to the point, as always. Clarke rolls her eyes, but the thought of Lexa’s advisor is brief and doesn’t stay long as she busies herself with tangling around Lexa’s naked body.

To her credit, her voice doesn’t shake when she replies. “I’m still with Clarke,” she says evenly. “There’s been a change of plans. I will come back tomorrow. I’m sorry for not notifying you earlier.”

Anya’s silent for a brief moment. _“Is everything okay?”_ she asks, and the trepidation in her voice makes Clarke sigh. But Lexa turns her head to peck her lips and nuzzles her nose with hers, and suddenly she feels a lot better. “Yeah,” she says, not taking her eyes off Clarke. “Everything’s perfect.”

This time, Anya’s not silent at all. _“You slept with her, didn’t you?”_ She scoffs, sounding amused.

Clarke’s surprised to feel her cheeks heat up, and Lexa clears her throat. “I believe it’s none of your business, Anya,” she says warningly. Which only makes it worse, since she basically confirms Anya’s statement.

Her advisor’s laughter is sharp, but warm. _“She must be really good--”_

“I will _not_ engage in this locker room talk,” Lexa cuts her off, immediately, looking away from her. Clarke can’t help but wonder if she would’ve if she weren’t there. It’s not like she minds, really. They are, after all, incredible together. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.” Her lips curl in a smile, then. “And I expect a detailed report on your date with Raven.”

Now, it’s Anya who clears her throat. _“Just get back as soon as you can.”_

“Will do.” Lexa’s smile becomes victorious. “See you soon, Anya.” She only chuckles when her advisor disconnects the call without saying anything else.

“I should probably talk to Raven, too,” Clarke says when Lexa tosses her phone on the nightstand and turns to face her. She makes no move to reach for her phone, however, and Lexa’s smirk is both tender and smug.

“Sure,” she says lowly. Climbs back in bed, on all fours, and crawls towards Clarke who inches back till she feels her back hit the headboard. “You do that.”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes out as she watches her sit on her heels and slowly reach out to caress her knees, prompting her to invitingly spread her legs. “Yeah. Later.”

“Later,” Lexa echoes, and her hands slide up her thighs to her stomach as she rises to her knees and catches her lips in a hungry kiss.

**//**

“This,” Lexa murmurs into her lips, “is the opposite of helping,” before leaning in and giving her another sweet, slow kiss.

“Not my fault,” Clarke breathes out when they part, both wearing smiles. “You can’t expect me to go away when you kiss me like that.” Lexa’s arms tighten around her, and her smile grows.

“I don’t want you to go away,” she tells her, with quiet sincerity. And kisses her again. This has got to be the slowest packing ever. Clarke doubts either one of them cares. But, sadly, Anya does, and so do her parents, and their jobs and frantic schedules and the busy city they have to return to.

She sighs and slowly pulls away first. One of them has to be strong enough. “I hate saying this, but we need to go,” she whispers regretfully.

“I know.” Lexa’s voice is tinged with sadness, and Clarke never related to anything more, she thinks. She’s almost scared, if she’s being honest. It almost feels like they are leaving this behind, all of this; the reconciliation and confessions and acceptance. And all the love they shared, here, in this room, on this bed, away from everyone and everything.

_What if we come back and it all goes away?_

“Hey.” Green eyes are clear and soft. Lexa’s gaze is gently expectant.

Clarke releases a huge breath. “I – I think I’m scared. To go back.” She breaks their eye contact, glancing down at their joined hands and feeling Lexa squeeze hers.

“Look at me,” she quietly pleads, and when Clarke does, her smile grows. “Nothing is going to change, okay? I promise you. _Nothing_ changes.” She takes a small step towards her and rests their foreheads together. Clarke can feel her warmth. Can feel _her,_ and her presence, solid and calming, is grounding. She inhales, deeply, letting Lexa’s scent further remind her that she’s _here._ Both of them are. “This isn’t about the place. It’s about _us_ , and we’ll stay the same no matter where we are.”

There’s a lump in her throat she has difficulty swallowing. Lexa’s grip grows stronger, yet still stays gentle.

“Do you trust me?”

She blinks. The answer comes easily. “Yes.”

Lexa’s nose softly bumps into hers as she leans in even closer. “Now you ask me,” she breathes, smiling.

“Do you…” She gulps as she trails off, but Lexa waits, and she has no choice but to continue. “Do you trust me?”

Her lips brush against Clarke’s when she replies, voice strong and sure.

“Yes.”

It’s another half an hour before they actually start packing.

//

They arrive back to the city close to midnight. It’s still today, so technically, they are on time. Kind of. Their families and friends are a little disgruntled, still, but Clarke thinks they are secretly happy for them. Or, at the very least, she hopes so.

//

“What about you?” Dr. Grant’s smile is coy, as if she already knows her answer. Clarke’s sure she does, but she humors her anyway. “Are you happy?”

She finally believes herself when she answers. “I am.”

“Well,” Katherine nods and clasps her hands together. “I’m gonna be honest with you – I haven’t rooted for a couple this much in a long time.”

Clarke gives her a pointed look, but the woman only shrugs. “It’s true,” she says. “I hope you’re not recording me. This could, potentially, ruin my career.”

“Besides the fact that it’s illegal,” Clarke laughs, “I would never do that. You… you saved us.”

But Katherine is already shaking her head. “I just listened. You put in the work. You have no idea, Clarke, how many relationships, how many marriages fell apart right here, on this couch,” she points in her direction. “But yours didn’t. That has to mean something, right?”

“Everything.” Clarke swallows. “It means everything.”

//

“She was surprised. But I think it was mostly for my benefit.”

Lexa’s smile is audible in her voice. “ _Why do you say that? It could’ve been genuine. She was always impressed with the progress you were making; it’s not that hard to believe she really thought you wouldn’t wanna keep seeing her.”_

“Yes,” Clarke agrees as she navigates through the aisles, “but that was before we told her about Costia.” It’s still a bit of a difficult subject for her. But she’s managing. Or trying very hard to manage. She thinks she’s doing better than she could be, all things considered. Lexa thinks she’s doing great. And Dr. Grant thinks she’s doing so amazing she doesn’t require therapy anymore.

“ _I still don’t know what shocked her more: the news about Costia or us staying together after you learned about her,”_ Lexa says, amused. “ _Remember her face when we told her?”_

Clarke laughs. “That’s not something I’ll ever forget. The first and only time she couldn’t keep her cool, are you kidding?”

“ _Yeah,”_ it sounds like Lexa’s smile grows. “ _And then she asked us what happened afterwards, and you just blurted out ‘we made love’, and she looked at us like we were crazy.”_ She joins in with laughter, but it’s cut short when another voice appears in the background.

“You have to go?” Clarke half-asks, half-states.

“Unfortunately,” Lexa sighs. “See you tonight?”

“You better. You’re cooking.”

//

“Lower,” Lexa moans. “Fuck – right there.”

“Such a potty mouth,” Clarke murmurs while her hands gently knead tense muscles. “Did you move at all today?”

“No. Was glued to my desk,” comes the muffled answer. She chuckles and leans down to leave a kiss between Lexa’s shoulder blades. “You have to stand up and stretch every once in a while,” she chides her, softly.

“I know,” Lexa mumbles into a pillow. Then, she turns her head to the side, looking at her with one eye. “Kiss me better?”

She laughs, enjoying the pleasant ache her heart fills with at having Lexa so pliant and soft before her. “I think I’m supposed to kiss _it_ better.” Her squeal is uncharacteristically high-pitched when Lexa sharply turns and rolls them over, pinning her to the mattress.

“We’ll get to that, too,” she promises her, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Now kiss me.”

“Demanding. I love it,” Clarke purrs, and leans up.

//

“You’re late,” Anya states as soon as they walk in. Clarke has a feeling she’ll be saying that a lot from now on. She’s already said that quite a few times in the past several months.

They only give her apologetic smiles and exchange sly glances. True to herself, Anya decides not to dwell on it, swiftly moving on to the task at hand. “Doesn’t matter. Help me with this. We’re already falling behind.”

Clarke rolls her eyes – another thing she’s pretty sure is going to happen more often than not. “We’re only ten minutes late and her flight got delayed for another hour,” she points out. Lexa nods even as she accepts the giant teddy bear Anya thrusts in her arms. “Also, what the fuck is that?”

“None of your business,” Lexa’s friend – and that’s the only reason Clarke doesn’t roll her eyes again – replies evenly as she grabs the uncomfortably huge bouquet off the coffee table, along with her car keys.

“I just want to help,” she throws her hands up in a placating gesture. “Raven kind of hates all this sappy shit.”

Anya’s response is, as always, curt and unpredictable. “Good. Keep thinking that.”

She’ll learn the – kind of – heartbreaking truth later; that her friend only dislikes _sappy shit_ because no one’s ever thought of treating her to it. For now, she only sighs and follows the women in impeccable suits out the door. “Can I drive?” Since murder is completely off the table, Clarke’s been enjoying occasionally antagonizing Anya.

Occasionally, because it’s not really fun when the object of antagonization doesn’t even blink her way.

“Wait.” She comes to a halt, eyes widening, when they reach Anya’s sleek silver car. Lexa pauses as well, looking at her. Anya keeps going. “You’re not – proposing, are you?”

“Why?” Clarke gapes at her while she opens the rear door and carefully places the bouquet in the backseat. “Did you expect me to ask for your blessing, miss Griffin?”

Clarke hates that her entire body jumps, as if electrocuted. “Don’t--”

“--call you that,” Anya finishes for her. When she’s agitated, she has no patience. Together with her – carefully masked and thoroughly buried – short temper, it’s not a good combination. “It’s in jest, I assure you.”

“Anya.”

Lexa’s voice is quiet, cold steel as she looks up at her friend. For a short, terrible second, they freeze. Lexa’s watching Anya, unmoving. Anya blinks and looks away, gaze jumping around as she lets out an agitated breath in an attempt to calm herself. And Clarke just stands while dreaded helplessness washes over her.

There are good days. There are bad days. There are good moments. There are bad moments. But they never stay long. Everything passes, and so will this, she reminds herself, and her legs unfreeze, taking her to the front passenger door.

Anya looks at her again, with muted surprise, when she hears her open it for Lexa. “We’ll be late.” She’s proud of her steady voice. “I suggest you get your ass in gear, miss Chand. Well,” she adds when she hears Lexa chuckle behind her and feels her hand on her lower back, “hopefully _still_ _a miss_ Chand.”

“I’m not proposing,” a smirking Anya lets her know when all of them are inside and she starts the car. “Just so you know.”

“Good. Because you _do_ need my blessing. Or, at the very least, acceptance.”

Anya’s laughter is short and sharp. “I’ll keep that in mind, Clarke.”

//

Being your girlfriend’s best friend’s girlfriend’s best friend – Clarke gave herself a migraine just thinking that – is definitely not easy. She doesn’t expect Raven, an extremely private person when it comes to romantic relationships, and Anya, who should if not hate, but at least strongly dislike her, like Lincoln still does, to be so strongly _for_ double dates. She’s pretty sure they just want more things to tease Lexa and her about. Their current material consisting of _late all the fucking time due to fucking_ and _constantly touching each other to the point of being extra gross_ must be wearing thin.

She’s not exactly right, but she’s also not exactly wrong, either. Raven coos when Lexa holds the door open for Clarke, and snickers when Clarke pulls the chair out for her; Anya bites her lip to stop herself from smiling whenever she glances their way, which is all the time. Their friends resemble giddy kids more than serious and ambitious young professionals most people know them as, and there’s a certain charm in seeing them like this.

Mostly Clarke’s happy people are happy for them, however selfish that might sound. They’ve spent so much time defending their relationship to everyone, including themselves, that now she can’t quite believe it when Anya looks at them with a smile that’s not a masked snarl.

“Bathroom policy: one person at a time,” she announces as soon as they walk into the restaurant. “I don’t want to be banned from this place. Their wine selection is to die for.”

Both Clarke and Lexa pretend it’s not them she’s talking about. Well. Not _only_ them.

//

Clarke sincerely doubts they’ll ever be able to keep their hands off of each other. It’s a near-physical need – to be always touching.

Lexa cooks dinner and Clarke’s arms are entwined around her waist while she looks over her shoulder and occasionally presses kissed to her neck, below her ear. Clarke’s doing her coursework, feet in Lexa’s lap, and Lexa’s hand is absentmindedly stroking her leg while she’s answering her emails. They go to sleep tangled up in each other and they wake up the same way.

Dr. Grant warns them, casually, during one of their increasingly infrequent sessions, that this kind of behavior could develop into something unhealthy. “Codependence is not something you want to encourage,” she says, in her usual warm tone that’s somehow laced with steel at the same time.

Lexa’s hand only squeezes Clarke’s tighter, and Katherine continues. “I understand, of course, that you two went through a very traumatic experience. This is just something to keep in mind.” She went on to explain that this is most likely happening because they were depraved of each other’s touch for so long, and for various reasons, and all the other things they already know and don’t really care about.

“Am I becoming an addiction?” Lexa murmurs, with a slow smirk, when they leave Dr. Grant’s office hand in hand, lips pressed for a quick kiss.

“You were always a salvation,” Clarke answers, and it doesn’t matter how cheesy that sounds as long as it’s true.

//

She has nightmares, sometimes. It makes sense, she thinks, after everything they’ve gone through. Good thing is, they’re few and far between. Bad thing? They are the most realistic, vivid dreams she’s ever had. Lexa leaving, dad dying, Finn coming back in a torn shirt and with bloodied hands, screaming at her to look at what she’s done – all the people she’s ever cared about suffering because of her choices.

Every time she wakes up – in the middle of the night, or just before dawn, or after lunch from her quick nap – Lexa’s there, and that makes it easier. The first few times it happened, she was more freaked out than Clarke, even though she tried not to show it. And managed just fine, but Clarke knows her better than anyone. She’s sure about it now.

Lexa’s eyes are a new shade of green when she runs to her side. Clarke’s gasping through her tears, trembling, terrified, and Lexa’s worried face comes in and out of focus as she tries to grasp what’s real and what’s not.

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice is frantic. “It’s okay. It was a dream. Just a bad dream.” Clarke can’t control her shaking even as Lexa’s arms wind around her. She starts to calm down when she inhales and breathes in her familiar scent.

“It felt so real,” she tells her later, after Lexa makes herself get up and bring her a glass of water. They are cuddled up under one blanket, with a bedside lamp on. She feels like a kid. In a good sense. Safe and protected, and warm, while soothing hands are rubbing her back. When she was little, her mother stayed in her room until she fell asleep, because she was afraid of the dark. Still is, if she’s being honest.

“But it wasn’t.” Lexa’s voice is strong, sure. Much stronger than it was half an hour before. She must have been really scared, too. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clarke shudders. “Not now.” In the morning, when the light is streaming through the windows and Lexa’s barefoot while she’s making pancakes and the shadows seem silly instead of imposing.

“Okay.” Lexa doesn’t press. Just kisses her head and pulls her closer.

In the morning, Clarke wakes her up by sliding down her body and leaving a series of gentle, grateful kisses between her legs, and Lexa doesn’t mention the dream because Clarke doesn’t bring it up.

//

There are good days. There are bad days. There are days in-between. They kiss, and they smile, and they sleep and make love and fight and make up and wake together and wake apart and _live._

They are not perfect. But they are _beautiful_ together. They make each other want to be the best version of themselves, and that’s something Clarke never thought would be possible, but here they are. Here she is. A lot of work and a little luck, and Lexa’s hand in hers through all of it.

And for bad days, she always has the last day they spent in that cabin after making love for what felt like the very first time. She comes back to it, as an anchor, to remind her they can survive anything. _She_ can survive anything.

She remembers Lexa’s easy grin and soft gaze before her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I have an idea,” she told her while they exchanged lazy touches and kisses, enjoying each other’s bare skin.

“Do we have to leave the bed?” Clarke groaned, and yes, it did, but Lexa looked so elated she simply couldn’t say no.

She remembers grumbling while tugging her clothes on because that means Lexa was getting dressed, too, and she rather liked having her naked. But Lexa only laughed and hurried her.

“Where are we going, anyway?” She dreaded the answer, just a little bit, since she was almost sure Lexa was making her go on a midnight hike.

Lexa’s reply didn’t disappoint with its unpredictability. “The roof.” At least that explained the jacket of hers she threw over Clarke’s shoulders.

She remembers fresh night air with a hint of autumn chill. Quickly climbing up the ladder. Laughing, so much laughing till their sides and cheeks hurt. And stars. A myriad of stars above, so close – it seemed like all she had to do was lift her hand, and she’d be touching them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lexa asked her, and Clarke waited for her to find her gaze before smiling and replying _yes._ And then waited for her to blush and roll her eyes and murmur how cheesy she was being before pulling her close and giving her a tender kiss that spread warmth throughout her entire body.

Soft lips. Hands. Chuckles and shy smiles and hair tucked behind ears. Stories of constellations and first heartbreaks and life-changing decisions quietly murmured under the night sky. Lexa’s jacket around her shoulders, smelling of her. And kisses. God, so many kisses, gentle and soft and yearning and heart-wrenchingly tender, and eyes full of wonder and awe and endless green.

They had many days and nights after that, but Clarke always comes back to it. Dr. Grant would probably reason that it’s because that was the point of no return. The moment of reconciliation and proper consummation of their turbulent, messy relationship that from then on began to fully blossom. Or something like that. For her, that night was… everything they are.

That night, Lexa’s smiling at her, framed by the millions of stars. “Wherever you just went, it seemed like it was good,” she tells her, and the quirk of her lips is soft.

Clarke swallows. Cups her cheek and runs her thumb across the skin, like the hundreds of times she’s done before. Just like the hundreds of times before, it still feels new. “It will be,” she murmurs. When Lexa gives her a curious look, she continues. “I was just thinking about us. And the future.” Her smile appears and grows. “It looks good.”

Lexa’s fingers entwine with hers. “We’ll make it even better.”

_“I’m Clarke.”_

_“Hello, Clarke. I’m Lexa.”_

“I still have your coat.”

Lexa’s palm is warm and soft in hers. “What?” She blinks at her. “That’s a jacket.”

“No,” Clarke chuckles. She wants to laugh, suddenly. “The one you gave me the night we met. That coat. I still have it.”

“Oh.” Lexa blinks again. “I know. Why do you think I kept coming back?”

They look at each other for the longest moment, frozen, before bursting with laughter. Lexa tries to continue, through it, with the joke; how she was too polite to point it out, but she also needed that coat, and since now everything’s fine, could she please have it back, but on second thought it looks much better on Clarke, and--

“I love you,” Clarke blurts out, when their laughter calms down and they sit there, on the roof of a rented cabin, breathless and cold and deliriously happy.

This time, Lexa’s serious and quiet. “I know. Why do you think I kept coming back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been an incredibly emotional journey that's been both mentally exhausting and unbelievably rewarding. this work has seen my craft grow and flourish and collapse in on itself at the same time. i'm grateful to everyone's who's been there with me every step of the way. without your encouragement and support, this would not have happened - we would not be here, closing the last ever chapter of the au that broke and (hopefully) mended so many hearts, including mine. 
> 
> as all goodbyes, this is bittersweet. but i'll see you on the next one. now, i will be dedicating more time to original works and pairings, and while it's sad to start letting go of clexa, it's also exciting to think of all the new worlds and ships i'll create for you. for us. 
> 
> for now, however, i am taking a small break to focus on my health, both mental and physical. all the links to my social networks are in the first note, but i'll be back in january. i will post several christmas specials for clexa and original pairings, though. after that, i'll take some time to myself to reflect, plan, and reinvent. 
> 
> just in case, see you all in the new year. thank you. so, so much.
> 
>  
> 
> love,  
> gera.


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